We Are Young
by Bad Company
Summary: Ortiz, Telford, Morales, Kozik, Purcell: family, blood, marriage, club. Anarchy.
1. Venture Management

**We Are Young**

By Bad Company and Reapergirl.

**Disclaimer: **the authors claim no right to Sons of Anarchy or its characters. No copyright infringement is intended. They do not claim 100% accuracy in depicting outlaw motorcycle clubs, this is a work of fiction. Story title comes from the song "Young" by Hollywood Undead. Ava Ortiz belongs to Bad Company and Cassie Purcell belongs to Reapergirl.

**Summary: **A continuation of the Ava/Juice Koz/Cassie saga.

**AN: **This will be a continuous, though long story, and there will be time jumps throughout. We are both big believers in attainable character growth over time and the steady strength of the women who support these men, the struggles of the kids who grow up in the life. We love reviews and love hearing from our great readers.

…

**1. Venture Management**

**Today: thirty years later**

Juice had been finishing up his morning coffee at the garage when Sam's call had come in. _Think you can come to the courthouse? _He'd asked, and the litany of possibilities that had inspired had not been good. But he had long ago learned that his eldest didn't ask for favors lightly. So he told the latest bimbo du jour behind the office desk to put someone else on the tow truck and he'd headed toward the San Joaquin Justice Center. Halfway there, he'd started to wonder if he should have brought along bail money, but the moment he pulled into the parking lot, that curiosity had been dispelled.

Déjà vu had slammed into him hard as he'd walked toward the courthouse, a smile tweaking his lips. Sam had been here in this same capacity as a one-year-old, held in his grandmother's arms while a judge sanctioned Juice's lifelong commitment to Ava.

Now, the kid was thirty-one, in his cut and boots, shades, looking very much like his old man. There were no cuffs, Juice had seen, no cops. Just the slender blonde at Sam's side in a body-hugging off-white, cashmere sweater dress, tan boots and belt, smiling radiantly.

There had been a time when Juice had lain awake at night, worrying about Sam, about the deep-seated, genetic coldness that had left his mama in tears over the idea that he might turn out like Hap: guarded and heartless. But Juice hadn't lost faith. And it was amazing what five years could do to a man, how huge life changes could bring out the good shit and leave it sitting on the surface, for everyone else to see. In the war against nature versus nurture, nurture had finally won out for Sam.

"And now," the judge said in a big, deep voice that reminded Juice of the judge from _My Cousin Vinny_, "by joining hands, you are consenting to be bound together as husband and wife. You are promising to honor, love and support each other for the rest of your lives. Do you, Samuel James Morales Junior, take this woman?"

It wasn't Hap's son, but Juice's who said, "yeah, I do." Though the voice was a haunting reminder of his lineage.

"Do you, Halen Elizabeth Kozik, take this man?"

"I do, too," said Koz's tiny, blonde-tressed, blue-eyed descendant. Her old man would have been so proud, but it was always harder for the father, wasn't it? Juice had learned that firsthand. Koz should have been there. So should Cass. Christ, Cassie would hate this: no flowers, no yards of fabric, no guests in neat little rows of chairs, no music. Just Sammy and Hay-Hay.

At least she was wearing white, Juice observed. Or, almost-white. Eggshell? He knew too much about colors, damn all those hours of HGTV he'd suffered through with Ava. But the dress didn't matter: the light sheen in her eyes did, the emotion that was bubbling up and making her smile quiver.

"Then by the authority vested in me by the laws of the State of California," the judge said, "I now pronounce you husband and wife."

_Wow. _Jean Carlos to the masses, Juice to the brave, Pops to the few, was _proud_. He couldn't hold back his megawatt smile as the couple turned to face him, their only legal witness. Much as he had thirty years ago, he was in jeans and boots, the Reaper hanging proudly from his back. "Congrats," he told them. "But you know your mother's gonna kill me, right?"

Halen smiled – pretty like her mama, but thoroughly laced with Kozik DNA. Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "Which one?"

Sam chuckled. "Both of 'em."

**Yesterday: 2018**

March didn't usually come in like a lion in Northern Cali. It was a soft day: cool, cloudless, sky crisp and blue, with the occasional breath of warm air in the wind currents. Sunlight poured through the UV glazed windows of the Silver Plate Diner on Main and heated up the right side of Jax's face, left him relaxed and a little sleepy. The diner was full of the usual lunch crowd, voices and the clatter of flatware the soundtrack to his conversation. Steam was licking up off the grills in the back, bringing with it the smell of fried potatoes and the tang of fresh-grilled onions.

He pushed his empty plate away, feeling significantly more confident than he had when he'd first slid into his favorite corner booth. Across from him, Eliot Oswald wiped his fingers on a paper napkin and reached for his wallet.

"Nah, man, I got this," the SAMCRO President said, but Oswald whipped out a twenty anyway and set it on the table between them.

"I just agreed to spend five-hundred kay on our 'arrangement', Jax. A truck stop lunch won't kill me."

Jax smirked.

The millionaire took one last swallow of coffee and slid out of the booth. He extended a hand that the biker shook. "Let me know what he says."

"You mean how pissed off he is."

He snorted. "That too. I'll be in touch."

Jax nodded. "Hey, I appreciate this, man."

"For once, I can honestly say, this has nothing to do with you or your club. It's just smart business, Teller." With one last bob of his head, Oswald shrugged into his spring-weight jacket, some rancher-looking suede number, and headed for the door, walking a little like a cowboy.

Through the window, Jax watched him walk out to where his Mercedes was parked along the curb. Who'd have thought: it may have taken ten damn years, but the club was finally taking that legitimate step he'd always talked about, just in a way he'd never imagined.

The whisper of sneaker soles over the tile announced the arrival of his waitress and pulled his attention. At eight months along, Ava's belly brushed against the table as she reached to clear Oswald's dishes. She was a comical sight when pregnant – all her weight was in her belly, well, and her chest, but he wasn't going to check his cousin out. She didn't seem slowed down, though, whisking the plates into the plastic tub and pulling a rag off her belt to wipe down the opposite side of the table.

"You done?" she asked, already grabbing for his plate.

He nodded. "When'd you get here?"

"Just clocked in. Working second shift today."

He chewed at the inside of his cheek. "They let pregnant chicks work till eleven these days?"

She straightened up and rested a moment, tub sitting up on the table. She smiled and rolled her eyes. "I know, right? How cliché can I get: pregnant waitress at an all night diner. Now I just need an abusive boyfriend and twenty-year-old Buick to complete the white trash ensemble."

Jax chuckled. "When you gonna put that degree to work?"

She shot him a pointed look that said _drop it_, then her gaze went out toward the window. "Hale's here."

Ava, of course, wasn't privy to this deal he was working, but she knew something was up: who knew how much Juice had spilled at home. That, and, she didn't miss much. Deal or no, she would have alerted him to Jacob Hale's creepy-looking ass coming up the sidewalk toward the door.

"Yup." Jax sat back and rested his hands on the table in a casual pose. "Official club business," he said and she nodded, knowing that meant she was suddenly supposed to lose her sense of hearing.

"I'll bring him some coffee. You need anything?"

"I'm good."

As she walked off, or waddled, more like it, he allowed himself a moment of pride for his little cousin – she was doing alright for herself – then the door jangled, Hale stepped in, and he focused completely on the exchange to come.

**-O-**

"You know," Carter said from across the table, "the money you've spent on those, you probably coulda put the down payment on a new house."

Juice shot him a quick glare and then returned his attention to the four scratch-off lottery tickets he'd laid out on the clubhouse table in front of him. He was, he knew, starting to obsess about the things. But no more than he obsessed about anything else. And every morning he rolled over and saw Ava sitting up on the side of the bed, her hand pressed between her swollen breasts because she had heartburn again, her belly looking bigger by the second, he panicked just a little bit more. Neither one of them had said it out loud, but they both knew that the two bedroom, one bath house that Hap had bought her wasn't big enough for the expanding family. Especially not once the boys started getting bigger…

Christ, in about four weeks, he'd have a son. Well, he already had one, he really did think of Sammy that way, but this was just…wow. He was so stunned, so excited, so goddamn terrified, he'd stopped fighting Ava on her insistence to name the poor kid after him.

"I'm gonna get lucky," he rationalized, taking a quarter to the first scratch-off.

"Mmhm."

"Don't you have something else to do?"

"Waitin' on Jax, same as you."

Carter didn't annoy him, it was just that, as he moved from ticket to ticket, his failure was embarrassing. Because as usual, he came up with _nada_, and it was another four bucks down the drain. He was pissing away their hard-earned money four bucks at a time.

"Ava has a degree, right?" the youngest patch holder asked, knowing full well, like everyone else, that she did.

Juice sighed and pushed the tickets away, disgusted. He propped his chin on a fist and glanced across the table. "I'm not gonna push her. She knows she should be doing something better than waiting tables." He snorted. "Charming's not exactly bustling with corporate job opportunities."

"And let's keep it that way," Jax's voice carried across the common room as he came into the clubhouse. He was grinning as he aimed a finger at Juice. "Get the stuff. Church in ten."

**-O-**

"You want me to do what?"

So far, this was feeling very much like the conversation they'd had when she'd come home to find Juice taking scissors to her only pair of panty hose: ludicrous and possibly illegal. Ava didn't even have her jacket off yet, was still trying to work the zipper down over her distended belly, and he was telling her he wanted her to buy a house. Two houses, actually.

He made that face that acknowledged he'd gotten ahead of himself again and had said everything all wrong. "Come here."

Wondering how worried she should be, she went to the table where he was sitting with a mess of paperwork strewn in front of him and sat at his elbow. "Please tell me I heard you wrong and you meant doll houses."

"Nope." He pulled out a thin stack of printouts that looked like aerial maps. Closer inspection showed they were plats: official property lines and measurements as documented with the county, for four homes. "Cedar Lane," Juice tapped the marked street at the bottom of the top page.

Ava nodded. "Those are nice homes. Dated, but big." Her parents lived two streets over from the neighborhood in question, and she'd jogged down Cedar Lane before, had ridden her bike there before she'd been able to drive. It was one of the early developments in town; classic construction and big lots, sprawling houses. The trees were tall and deep-rooted. It was a great spot in Charming – centrally-located but with a feel of tranquil isolation. They were the kinds of houses she drove by and just kept driving, because though she and Juice needed to upsize, it wasn't going to be in that neighborhood.

She glanced up at her husband and waited. Sometimes, Juice's ideas took a lot of patience.

"These four houses," he indicated the plats, "are set to be foreclosed on at the end of the month."

"Two weeks from now."

"Yeah. And the mortgages were taken out at Hale's bank."

A light bulb clicked on in her head. So that explained Jax's meeting with Jacob.

"My guy over at San Joaquin Savings and Loan said Hale doesn't expect anybody to show up for the auction. He's gonna buy 'em up and use them as leverage to push the rest of the homeowners off the street."

"Push how?"

Juice pulled a disgusted face. "High density town homes."

"Shit."

"Yeah. He's gonna break ground on the foreclosed lots and hope the construction will encourage the others to sell."

"When imminent domain won't succeed…" she sighed. Of all the outlaws in Charming, Jacob Hale was by far the lowest. His dream of turning the picturesque, backwards little town into Disneyland was never too far out of sight. And the Sons were running out of counter plays. She frowned. "Wait, why are you telling me all this?"

He twitched a sideways smile. "SAMCRO's goin' legit on this one. We've got stable financial backing, and we're gonna flip these houses."

That explained Oswald. Ava wanted to smile too, but she kept it in check. "And you need me to buy them why?"

"You and Tara. You guys don't have any criminal charges as adults, it'll look better all the way around. We give you guys the cash, you show up on the courthouse steps, and we'll handle the rest." His voice took on an excited edge. "Oswald's gonna buy one back from us, put his barn manager in it and list it as a tax write off, which, shit, that's how the rich get richer right there. Fancy tax shit. Once the other three are updated, we should be able to find buyers." He fanned out the rest of the paperwork for her perusal, looking very pleased with himself.

Pride surged through Ava: she knew her man had been instrumental in collecting all the info the club needed to make this new venture happen. It was a big gamble – all sorts of glitches could send the plan into a tailspin – but it was no more risky than gun runs and drug muling. And this was legal. This was money that couldn't be taken away, that couldn't land them in jail. And it didn't involve porn of any kind.

She couldn't hold back the smile that split her face in two. "I'm in. I am so in."

**-O-**

"Teller-Morrow Automotive," Maggie heard the soft feminine voice as she stepped over the office threshold with a heavy, almost-two-year-old Sam in her arms. Carter's wife – and she always had to force herself to think _wife_ and not girlfriend – was behind the desk, phone in hand. The tall, thin brunette was a bit like a newborn lamb, trying to get shakily to her feet so she could face the big scary world, but she tried hard. She wasn't the best part-time receptionist Maggie had ever seen, but was the most dedicated. She didn't take breaks, didn't smoke at the desk, didn't flirt with the guys because she was head-over-heels for the blonde who'd brought her back from Sturgis on the bitch seat of his bike.

"_Hi, Mia_," she mouthed and earned a quick smile in return.

"Uh, huh, yes, sir, we can take care of that for you…"

Maggie set Sam down and heeled the door to. He headed straight for the small pyramid of toys stacked up in the corner and she took a temporary seat in one of the visitor's chairs, ready to make a grab for her grandson if need be: he was a good boy though, didn't seem as intent on getting into things as some children.

Mia hung up the phone and typed something into the computer, the keys clipping under her fingers. She exhaled deeply, letting the breath hiss through her parted lips. That was when Maggie noticed the fine glitter of sweat on her temples and across her forehead. "Hi," she greeted in a voice that wasn't as bright as her usual chirp. She paused, one hand ghosted to the base of her throat a moment, then she shook herself and went back to typing.

All signs pointed to nausea.

"You feeling okay?" Maggie asked.

"Yeah. I'm fine." Though her face told a different story. "You have Sammy today?"

"Ava and Tara are up bidding on houses," she shook her head, still not quite believing this latest scheme. If the boys pulled it off, she'd be the first to congratulate them, but she had her misgivings. She had a lot of respect and appreciation for Oswald, but she wasn't ready to trust him quite like Jax and, once upon a time, Gemma had.

Mia nodded, then froze, face paling further. She grabbed at her stomach and started to turn toward the wastebasket, but caught herself. Swallowed. Rotated slowly back toward the computer.

"Mia," Maggie scooted forward in her chair, suspicious mind already churning. "Why don't you go lie down? Sam and I can hang out for a bit, I'll cover the phone."

Her eyes widened.

"I heard the stomach flu is going around and -,"

As if a switch had been flipped, Mia went from perfectly composed, to falling to pieces. She slumped forward on the desk and caught her face in her hands, a deep, shuddering breath came rushing out of her lungs. Maggie saw tears patter down onto the paperwork in front of her. "It's not the stomach flu!" she whimpered.

She'd been afraid of this. Though sympathetic for the girl, it was Carter who she thought of. She'd been the one to usher him into the club, to bring him out to that first party to meet Jax. And it was an almost maternal sense of responsibility that left her frowning: these kids were not ready for kids. It was impossible that they even _knew_ each other at this point. "You're pregnant?"

Mia pulled her hands away and nodded, absolutely miserable.

"Shit."

**-O-**

The afternoon was another of those perfect Northern Cali spring ones. Ava slipped off her light jacket and tossed it into the passenger seat of Tara's Yukon before she closed the door.

Across the street from the curb where they'd parked was the first of the four houses they'd paid Oswald's cash for on the San Joa courthouse steps. It was technically Tara's, though would soon belong to Oswald's barn manager and his family. It was a stone and stucco ranch, with a big three car garage and a yard that looked designed for Thanksgiving football games.

"You know," Tara mused, folding her arms and surveying her property, "when I thought about buying a house, it wasn't like this."

"No kidding." Ava let her eyes wander further down the street, down toward 4653, one of the homes listed under her name. It was kind of disheartening, really, to know that she and Juice needed a home, and here were two she couldn't have, right under her nose. Frustrating, to say the least.

The rumble of bikes announced the guys' arrival and a moment later, half a dozen Harleys were pulling up behind the SUV and idling to a halt. The majority of the charter had shown up in what Ava knew was a calculated appearance: the club wanted the neighborhood to know that the Sons were the ones maintaining the street, and not the county, or Hale.

Jax was the first one off his bike and he looked smug, confident. He'd been talking about "leaning right" for so long, it was surprising the first "lean" had taken so long. Ava waited for her Old Man and father, feeling winded and huge, out of breath just from her climb down out of the car. She'd maintained her fitness routine through the first two trimesters, but she now only took the occasional walk. She wasn't nervous like she had been the first time, didn't have this buildup of negative energy. So it was easier to be content with down time. She couldn't wait to be skinny again, however.

"Homeowner!" Chibs boomed as they approached. "How's it feel?"

"Like I gotta give them up," she said with a snort.

Juice tugged off his gloves and put an arm around her shoulders: she didn't have much of a waist right now. "Still fun to look though, huh?" But even with his shades on, she could read the tension in his face: he was taking on the burden of provider. She knew he felt guilty about not being able to move them into a family-sized home.

"Yeah," she offered him a smile, not wanting to add to the guilt, and let him steer her down the street, toward 4653.

The sounds of the bikes had pulled curious neighbors to their windows: Ava saw a few faces peeking at them from behind lacey curtains. What the trio they must look, walking down the street: two bikers, one of which had ink on his head, and a waddling, pregnant chick who probably looked like a hostage. She hoped though, that, like she had Juice had discussed in the wee hours when her heartburn had been too bad for sleep, that SAMCRO would make friends here rather than enemies. This was fantastic PR for the club.

By the time they reached the driveway, she felt sweat misting her back, her summer weight long-sleeved tee stuck to her skin. "This boy needs to come _out_," she muttered as they started up the curving concrete drive that led around to the side of the house. Her physical condition was soon forgotten though as she started soaking up the details.

The yard was large, but plain, no landscaping save the empty beds along the front walk full of faded bark chips. A tall oak stood sentinel on the far side of the drive, dappling them with shade and throwing shadows across the three garage doors.

"Nice," Ava murmured, coming to a halt.

"Yeah," Juice had an excited smile to his voice. "Room for two cars and a workshop. That's pretty sweet."

She turned toward him and arched a brow. "Did you read up on all the specs?"

"Aye," Chibs answered for him. "Boy's been gettin' his real estate on."

Ava chuckled. "Alright, lead the way, Tour guide Barbie."

They went in through the front, pausing to appreciate the white-railed rocking chair front porch that stretched across most of the house. Inside, the foyer was tiled with what looked like green marble laced through with thick veins of white. It was garish and out of date, but had at one point been pricey. To the right was what she guessed was the dining room that boasted a big bay window, and ahead, two arched doorways that led into an expansive family room.

"This is a gallery," she said, stepping into the carpeted hall that seemed to run from one end of the house to the other. "Love that."

"Master's to the left," Juice led the way, and she wasn't quite prepared for how fantastic it was.

Under the velveteen, rose-patterned wallpaper, the shag carpet, the bedside lamps affixed to the wall, the ceiling fan with dangling light globes, all the brass and green tile in the bathroom, was a huge amount of floor space, walk-in closets, and a Jacuzzi tub.

She was in love before she even saw the rest of the house. The kitchen had a big breakfast nook and overlooked the back deck, a yard big enough for five swing sets. There were three other bedrooms, a laundry room, full guest bath, and a finished basement with its own bathroom. All the fixtures were bright brass or some sort of faux-crackled copper. The green was everywhere: in the laminate countertops and cabinet pulls of the kitchen. The lamps were circa 1985 and the carpet heavily stained. But the potential…there was tons of it.

As they walked down the overgrown, weed-riddled path of flagstones that led from the basement exit up and around to the driveway, Ava's walk slowed to that of an eighty-year-old, and then she stopped all together. Her face was flushed, she could feel her pulse throbbing in her cheeks, but she was covered in goose bumps. When she pushed the escaped strands of her ponytail off her neck, her skin was clammy to the touch. And the baby was kicking and thrashing around like a wild man.

"I'm sorry, I just gotta…" she trailed off because she wasn't sure what she just had to do. Throw up, pass out, give birth, something. There was a little concrete bench along the path and Juice towed her over to it, kept a hold of her arm as she sank down onto it with painful slowness.

His eyebrows had climbed so high they looked fused to his Mohawk. "You're not -,"

"No," she finished. "I don't think so. I haven't had lunch so maybe that's it. Kinda lightheaded."

Chibs made a disapproving grunting noise. "You want me to getcha somethin'?"

"No," she hated being treated like an invalid just because she was pregnant. "I'm supposed to meet Mom at Nikki's to pick up Sam."

He scowled. "She can get ya right bloody now." He fished out his phone and walked back toward the street, grumbling about hard-headed women.

Juice sat down beside her. "You sure you're alright?" He looked terrified.

"Yeah," she scraped up a smile. And she was feeling better. Sitting down had helped with the cold chills. Baby boy was still active: but that wasn't unusual. Juice had teased that he was hyperactive like his old man, even in the womb, and she was very convinced that was true. She took a deep breath and leaned back, putting her hands behind her on the bench. "This place is beautiful," she said, letting her eyes take a trip around the backyard again.

He snorted. "You did see all the green inside, right? And the applique wallpaper?"

She grinned, because you had to either grin or pull your hair out thinking about the mismatched, ungodly wallpaper in every room: flowers, flowers in baskets, flowers in fields, and one bathroom done in old wooden sailing ships. But wallpaper could be stripped off and green laminate countertops could be replaced. "I have a vision."

He chuckled. "Must be a good one."

"It is."

A spring breeze that still held the coldness of a Canadian winter came rippling through the newborn leaves of the oak above their heads. The sound of the stirring foliage was somehow comforting: it was timeless and natural. The rest of the world didn't care about the problems, or hopes and dreams of a little biker family in Charming. And rather than discouraging, it was a nice little reminder that the world turned regardless of what happened to them.

"I'm sorry," Juice said, and his voice took on a heaviness that worried her.

When she glanced over, he was staring at his boots, not enjoying the afternoon the way she was. For a moment, the role reversal was so startling, she couldn't find her voice. Not so long ago, she was the one who hadn't been able to see anything except her own toes, too locked in her own head. "Sorry for what, baby?"

He shrugged. "You love this house and I won't ever be able to afford something like this for us. I'm forty years old and -,"

"Not yet."

"I'm _almost_ forty, and I can't provide any better for my family."

He was a dweller: his ADD did not, contrary to popular belief, prevent him from focusing on anything. In fact, he tended to hyper-focus on problems. Ava sighed. "Well, if I got outta that diner, it would help."

"You shouldn't have to work anywhere," he threw up his hands in exasperation. "I should be -,"

"Hold up." She straightened as much as she was able, now agitated. "This isn't nineteen-fifty. And I'm not some spoiled little rich girl who wandered in off the streets, Juice. Give me more credit than that. I know I have to work. You think you're the only one who wants to provide?"

He gave her a sideways glance.

"We're fine," she assured, hoping that was the truth. They'd both been so exuberant about getting pregnant, but now that he was almost here, the reality of adding another mouth to feed was weighing on both of them.

**-O-**

"I called Lonnie at the mill," Opie said that night at the table. "He can get us the lumber we need for cheap."

"Oswald Construction gets it wholesale," Jax countered. "And it simplifies the process."

"Nothin's ever simple about owin' one guy a shit-ton of money," Bobby said, and Tig nodded in agreement.

"We're gonna have to reach out to get the hardware anyway," Ope said. "Granite, tile, faucets and shit…goddamn," he reached for his pack of smokes on the table, "I feel like Bob fuckin' Vila."

Chibs exhaled twin plumes of smoke through his nostrils. "Wha about the prospect? Rio? Don't his old man have his own tile business?"

"Yeah," Tig, his sponsor, snapped his fingers. "Bet he'd do it for cheap too."

Jax sighed in a way that indicated he knew they'd be at this for a while. "Juice," he aimed a look down the table. "How's the list coming?"

Juice had been slipping in and out of his own head throughout the impromptu church meeting. For some reason, stupidly, he'd thought that after he and Ava had survived the tumultuous first year together, after all that shit with Hap dying and dealing with Sal Rubio, breaking down her walls, things would be so simple. But watching her walk through that house today, seeing the unspoken longing in her eyes again reminded him that building one life out of two was complicated.

He leafed through the legal pad in front of him, registering Ava and Tara's handwriting, some of Maggie's too once she'd shown up. "Forty-six-fifty needs a new dishwasher, the wallpaper stripped, linoleum pulled up…" he read off the needed improvements for each property for what felt like hours, until his mouth was dry and he had to take a swallow of the beer at his elbow. The girls had left no detail unnoticed, things like "crack in the dental molding in bedroom four" in Tara's neat script making his head hurt.

When he was done, the President let out a low whistle.

"Jesus," Bobby muttered. "And who're we gonna get to do all this work pro bono?"

Chibs snorted. "Nobody."

Opie shrugged. "I'm a'ight with a table saw." He motioned across the table with his cig. "Juice can handle all the electrical."

"Call Fresno," Tig said, "Wilbur's a contractor."

"Tacoma too," Tux said. "Koz and RJ are glaziers. And apparently we gotta have double-pane windows."

Jax was nodding. "We pay our guys and it still comes out cheaper than getting an outside crew in here." He grinned. "Shit. SOA Construction Co."

"I'm beginning to think you might pull this shit off, Prez," Bobby said with a chuckle.

"That's the idea." He tapped the gavel. "Start making calls, boys."

Chibs offered a game of pool, but Juice begged off. This close to the due date, and with Ava not feeling well, he wanted to be home as much as was possible.

But he stopped to buy four more scratch-off tickets on the way.

**TBC**


	2. Family, Man

**2. Family, Man **

"Nice posies," Glen Devine, Tacoma's President, said with amusement, nodding at the rather colorful bouquet of flowers in Kozik's hand.

The SAA shrugged. "Thought it might make our visit at least look somewhat well-wishing."

All the Sons who strode down the hall of a privately funded hospital in a rundown section of the South Puget Sound area knew their sergeant was carrying more than just a colorful spring bouquet as he followed Glen and Snapper. RJ and Byron flanked him, leaving Jinx to bring up the rear. They'd already cleared the first level of security when they'd left the actual patients behind and entered a part of the white-walled structure that was in a bad state of disrepair. The tiles were chipped and warped at the edges, the painted cinderblock stained. Ceiling tiles were missing at intervals, wiring and insulation visible, but Koz knew all the closed-circuit cameras aimed at them were fully functional.

As they rounded the last corner, the royal guard came into view. Koz saw Claremont and Tony lingering outside a closed door. Both were black, both intimidating in their own ways. Tony was a big guy, took up most of the hallway. Luckily, Claremont might weigh a-buck-thirty soaking wet, so there was room for the top echelon of Tacoma Sons to get past them. Tony nodded. Claremont paid the bikers not a lick of attention.

"Cherman inside?" Glen asked the obvious, seeing as how his pitbulls were guarding the door.

Tony nodded and reached for the handle. Snapper and Koz, VP and SAA, followed their Prez into the hospital room, leaving their own pitbulls at the door.

Room 448 was just another room located in the Short Procedure Unit - at least going by outward appearances. According to the daily hospital census, this private suite of a room saw a normal flow of invalids, but that was only on paper. In reality, no patient ever entered this particular room. Behind the privacy curtain, which was tugged aside by yet another fellow of African descent, was the office of Mr. Cherman Thompson.

"Here, get well soon," Koz muttered to the usher, handing off the flowers, and then stepped beyond the curtain and took stock of his surroundings as per routine. Cher – pronounced like the word _sure_, not to be confused with the singer – was seated behind a barge of a desk. Not counting the usher behind the curtain, there were four other men sitting around at the near end of the large room. Cher didn't say anything to them and no introductions were made. His silk suit probably cost more than Koz's Jeep, he'd wager the bet, and it had no doubt been tailored to fit his frame. No detail of his ensemble had been overlooked, not the gold tie clip, Cartier watch, the three rings on his right hand set with rubies the exact color of his shirt. Unlike his own watch and rings, which he wore every day, outfit be damned, Koz knew this guy had a whole jewelry case to suit his mood. Bald, a touch overweight, he was a good-looking guy in a soft sort of way. But that was all just an illusion. There was nothing soft about Cher Thompson. He headed all the black crime in the SEA-TAC area, and a soft-man could never have pulled that off.

Glen addressed the black king pin. "Heard you and Otis Redding got the same problem... _sittin' on a docks just wasting time_."

Koz kept his face blank, but was inwardly impressed at his president's pop culture reference. Whatever problems Cher and his crew were having on the docks, Koz was unconvinced as to how that parleyed into Sons' problems. Koz was a sniper, he'd flown military aircraft and had rained down hellfire missiles, and he had the steadiest hands of anyone he'd ever come across…except in those instances when some dormant sixth sense tried to call his attention to impending danger. He'd felt a tremor in his hand since they'd set foot in this damn place.

The man behind the desk chuckled, the sound a deep, baritone rumble in his chest, then sobered just as quickly. He reached across the desk, retrieved a cigar out of a leather humidor, extracted a cutter and sliced off the end. His dark, white-rimmed eyes scanned the bikers a moment as he lit up, then returned to some abstract spot on the far wall as he puffed deeply. "Give me your poor, your tired, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free," he said on an exhale of thick smoke. "That or some such shit is inscribed on the fuckin' statue of liberty."

He paused for effect, earning a nod from one of his guys. "Well, there had ought to be an expiration date on that fuckin' offer."

Snapper made a grumbling sound in his throat that was almost a laugh. "You not buyin' into that whole equality thing?"

It was joke, and Cher knew it, but the way his eyes flashed to the old VP still sent a little signal of warning along Koz's nerve endings. "Nah," the king pin said. "We got us Ukrainians comin' here, tryin' to get a foothold." He aimed the smoldering end of his cigar at them. "They look around, see don't no one much care what happens to the black community, so they move on us... see us as easy pickin's... 'bout shut down our dock works."

And fucking with Cher's distribution of coke and whores was a sure-fire way to get the man's attention. Koz had been running through the list of possible issues in his head since Glen had informed him of this meeting, but this? Ukrainians? _Fuck!_ Koz knew they were dealing with some very bad fucking people here. The way the tales went, the Ukrainian mob straight off the boat from the old country even managed to intimidate the badass Russians. He flexed his twitching right hand.

"From what we can gather", Cherman continued, "they come in, start small, usually with black books and other business because well, like I said before, they take over shit a piece at a time. We leave 'em unchecked, they'll move in on all my territory. Then they'll just keep on till they systematically move their way through the whole ethnic rainbow of crime."

There was a delicate balance of alliances, truces and acknowledgements that kept outlaw organizations out of each others' way and in the black when it came to their checkbooks. Ukrainian…or whoever, new blood in SEA-TAC meant there was a power struggle coming.

Glen sighed. "So I guess you'll be wantin' something from us, then."

**-O-**

Cassie Purcell stood behind the service desk of Devine Autoworks – one of the Tacoma charter's many entrepreneurial ventures – and took mental stock of her boys' whereabouts. Koz was at home sleeping off Church and late-night nookie. Luc was at home too, but knew not wake Koz unless the house was on fire, cops showed up at the front door, or someone was bleeding. All the pertinent phone numbers were pre-programmed into the phone and Cass was confident her son was capable of finding breakfast and watching cartoons. She'd called to check on him though, as per her normal routine, because if she hadn't been subbing in at the garage for Janine, she would have been working at the bank until two.

Devine's was not your average Jiffy Lube – it was a large shop. It boasted six maintenance bays, a body shop with separate paint bay, and a large, sleek, modern office that was showroom spiffy with an attached auto parts selection for the do-it-yourself shopper who wanted to change his own oil. One of the big plate glass windows showcased the chrome wheels for sale.

It hadn't taken long for Cass to settle into the shop's routine and become comfortable. As her dad's only child, she'd had to pull double duty, learning as much about bikes and cars as he could impart during their afternoons in the garage. She could do the basics – change her own oil, change her own tire – and was confident in her ability to discuss major repairs intelligently. If it weren't for the dragging fatigue that seemed to follow her around for the past few days, she would have enjoyed the job.

A go-getter till the end, she was trying to juggle her regular hours at the bank while filling in for Janine, whose broken foot made maneuvering around the office nearly impossible, keeping her house in order, taking care of Luc, donating the appropriate amount of attention to her man, all while maintaining her five-miles-per-morning on the treadmill at first light. Needless to say, this morning, when the alarm clock had chimed to life, she'd wanted to take a ball peen hammer to the thing.

The day before had been a whirlwind. Fridays were always the busiest at the bank, customers flooding the place to cash their paychecks. Her face had ached from smiling, her tongue dry and sluggish after greeting however many hundreds of bank patrons whose transactions she'd handled, and then she'd rushed over to Devine's to oversee the closing of the shop by whichever club girl they'd dragged in to cover the desk. Koz had been distracted and withdrawn all week, and when he'd rolled in at four a.m., he'd been seeking solace for his club worries. By the time they'd collapsed beside one another, chests heaving, sweat cooling, it had been time for her to start yet another day.

Her hopes that this Saturday would be calmer were dashed as the phone rang and she parked her tired ass in the cushy desk chair. "Devine Autoworks."

"Hi," a male voice greeted. "I'm looking for the service manager."

Cass keyed in the password on the computer in preparation. "I'm sorry, the service manager isn't in yet today. Is there something I can help you with or take a message?"

He made an unhappy sound. "Well, do you have anyone there who works in service?"

"I work in service."

"_You_ work in service?"

"That's what I said, sir."

"You're a _chick_ and you work in service?"

"I do. Surprise, surprise. How can I help you?"

There was a pause from the other end of the line. "The bolt in my transmission is stripped. Do you even know what a transmission is?"

After spending a wasteful five minutes ensuring the dumbass that she was in fact a woman, but that she did know a thing or two about cars – she knew what the transmission was – she learned he wanted them to remove the stripped bolt and let him drive off the lot, leaking transmission fluid, so he could go home and finish the repairs himself. Once it became clear he had no comprehension of liability or why the shop couldn't afford to send him home with a damaged vehicle, she told him to come in, or have a nice day, and hung up.

So absorbed, she hadn't heard Glen enter, and was surprised to glance up and find him in the doorway. "Grace under fire, Cass," he greeted with a smile, "Janine woulda ripped him a new one."

"He's gonna call back later and speak to my manager," she advised, rolling her eyes. "If I had a dick and a set of balls, he would have believed every damn thing I told him."

Glen chuckled. "You got a pair, don't worry none on that, darlin'." He nodded toward the door that separated office from the workspace. "I brought breakfast." Mechanics were swarming around a bag that had been set in the middle of a work bench. "Better get some 'fore it's gone."

"Thanks."

She had just pushed her chair back when the buzzer above the door signaled a customer's arrival. With a sigh and rumbling stomach, she pulled up to the desk again. It was going to be another long day.

**-O-**

Cassie stretched and covered a yawn with her hand. She was reaching for her cell phone when it blared to life with the chorus of Nazareth's "Hair of a Dog". _"Now you're messin' with a son of a bitch..."_ Startled, she fumbled the device, dropped it in her lap. Picking it back up, she pressed talk as she brought it to her ear with a smile. "Hello, baby."

"Mornin'," Koz said in his just-woke-up-voice. "What's your day look like?"

"Shelley and Paul both called out ." Cass rolled her eyes. Shelley was a ding-bat but at least she could ring out parts sales or answer a damn phone. Paul was a club hang around who would never make prospect if he didn't get his shit together, but the guy was magic with a torque wrench. Shelley and Paul were fucking each other: it wasn't a secret. "So, busy... between the obnoxious, overbearing and rude, we've managed to squeeze in an irate too."

"Nice."

"Oh, and a creep who when I inquired how important it was to him to have the low beams match the high beams – 'cause you know how some people want just the normal high beam with the bluish low beam or whatever – he says: 'How would you feel if your breasts were uneven?' I like my pairs perfectly matched…like yours.' Fuckin' _creep_!" she heard Koz grunt in displeased amusement. "I'm seriously going to nominate Janine for Sainthood – dealing with this day-in-day-out. And I thought working at the bank you had to deal with the bowels of humanity." She shook her head in reflective disbelief. "Oh, and my stalker is back."

"Your _what_?"

"Yeah. Same dude every days calls in with his creepy, raspy, stalker voice, and goes 'Hello, CCCCaaassssiiieeee, how are you doing today? Hmm? I have a bad problem with my car, it's really bad, And I need you to be a good girl and fix it for me. Can you do that? Can you be a goooood girrrrllll, CCCCaaassssiiieeee?'"

"Tell me you got the fucker's address, I'll go take care of his problem..."

She smiled. "Aw, you're sweet. But I mean, really? I've bartended, I've dealt with a lot of men, and I'm not some prude. But this guy…what a jackass. Last week, I thought it was RJ or P-Nut being an asshole, prank callin' me, but P-Nut is outta town and RJ does his stalking in person…"

She glanced up toward the door at the sound of the electronic chime and laughed. "Were your ears burning? I was just talkin' about you." She smiled at her man's best friend.

RJ nodded. "Tell your Old Man the union called an eleventh hour vote. We gotta be in Seattle at eight a.m. tomorrow."

She heard Koz mutter a few choice expletives and then, at his prompting, she handed her phone over to RJ.

**-O-**

Shelley finally showed up around four, looking disheveled and smelling like a bar, a hickey plainly visible on her neck, and Cass had been too relieved to give her the smirk that had pushed at her lips upon seeing the girl come riding in on the back of Paul's bike. Instead, she'd gone home, let Koz and Luc take her to dinner, and was now re-potting Gerber daisies on the back deck as the last scraps of daylight faded from the earth.

Koz was continuing his daylong streak of laziness and was reclined in one of the chaise lounges, beer in hand, watching Luc make fruitless swings at the ball set up on the tee that had been a birthday gift. When Cass glanced his direction, she saw the way he frowned as he watched her son and smiled to herself.

"The pool guys called today," he said after a long stretch of silence. "The permit's in, so they wanna break ground next week."

"Really?" she lifted her head, surprised. "That was quick."

He murmured an affirmative response.

Cass turned her gaze out toward the yard, chewing at her lip, again wondering if she'd miss the lack of green space. The first week of April, and with all the Washington rain, the grass was lush and green, thick as expensive carpet under bare toes. Her perennial beds were in full bloom, pops of pink, purple, red, orange and yellow, all tastefully arranged so none of the colors clashed. The big planting boxes she was currently up to her elbows in lined the perimeter of the deck and had been Koz's handiwork. When he'd learned that she'd planned to buy some, he'd demanded to build them himself and save, according to him, "an assload of dough". They were still unpainted and would be stained when she scraped and refinished the deck itself; its dark varnish was peeling up in dry strips that looked like dry snake skin.

Koz drew her attention with a smug-sounding snort. "I know a guy."

"Yeah," she said with a grin. "You know lots of guys."

He shrugged. "He said if the weather holds, it'll be about three to five weeks start-to-finish."

Down below them in the yard, Luc said ", dang it," and Cass heard the distinct whistling of his bat slicing through empty air.

Koz stood up and made a face. "Nah," he called down. "You gotta…hold on," he set his beer down on the deck and headed down the stairs. "Here, let me show you."

Cassie sat back, spreading her gloved hands over the wood deck planks to hold her weight and take some of the strain off her shoulders. She rested a moment and watched Koz and Luc, marveling at how cozy the whole scene felt. For a man so hell bent on never having a kid of his own, he was awfully good with hers.

Koz walked through the long, stringy shadows of tree limbs and headed for Luc who was now watching his approach with rapt attention. "Here, you're not holding the bat right for starters." Koz clenched his cigarette between his teeth and attempted to demonstrate how best to hit the ball off the tee. He repositioned the kid's hands and then stepped back, taking his cig between his fingers again. "Now, you gotta step into the swing."

In truth, Cassie reflected, Luc was under the tutelage of someone far more skilled than his coach. Among all the many, many stories she'd told of her own past, she'd learned a few things about her man, too: at least the things he wanted her to know. She knew that, before he'd enlisted in the Corps, he was on the fast track to a pro baseball career. His ninety-one mile per hour fastball had been attracting talent scouts to his high school. But some sort of "trouble" she still wasn't clear on had steered him in another direction, and he'd ended up a Marine instead. And then a biker, and thus her Old Man. Selfishly, she was glad for the path he'd taken in life.

Luc took a big swing, made contact, and Cass suppressed a laugh as the tethered ball swung around and smacked into Koz.

"Shit," he muttered. "Alright." The cigarette was crushed out on his boot heel and relinquished to the grass. "Screw this tee-stand shit. Here," and he took the ball in his hand.

Before she could protest, he'd pulled a switchblade out of his pocket and sliced through the tether. Cass inhaled sharply – the tee ball set had cost her a pretty penny, and here he was cutting it up. But she watched, silent, as Koz squared off from Luc and gave a few instructions. Then he released the ball with a softball slow pitch. It took a few misses, but Luc finally connected with a solid crack of the bat, and he whooped in delight. As full dark finally closed in on the evening, Cassie relinquished her gloves and trowel and went back inside to clean up, satisfied that her boys were making progress.

She had just finished loading the dishwasher when she heard the distinct sound of shattering glass from the second floor. Luc's guilty laugh confirmed her suspicions as she returned to the deck. Both guys were staring up toward the back of the house, toward the spare bedroom.

Luc spotted her first. "Um…Koz is too good at throwing the ball."

"_Me_? What about you suddenly turning into Babe Ruth?"

In the faint glow of the security light, Cassie could see her son's face scrunch up in confusion. "Who? I'm not a candy bar!"

Koz chuckled and tousled the kid's hair. "Wiseass." He lifted his head and gave Cassie a wink. "I got it, no worries."

"Alright, glass man," she said. Though not truly upset about the window, she didn't want to encourage future mishaps. "Bath time anyway," she told Luc. "You've got Sunday school with Brax and his grandma in the morning."

Luc released an overdramatic sigh and hung his head as he started up the back steps. "She's gonna try to save our souls. It's probably not gonna work."

**-O-**

The next day dawned warm and calm with occasional sunshine, typical weather for spring in the Pacific Northwest. Kozik wanted to be out on his Harley on this gorgeous Sunday afternoon, or working, even sitting on the couch back at the house, suffering the attention of Nikki the Sturgis cat – now a nearly grown tom – rubbing against his legs while Cass worried herself sick over the club dinner she was hosting that night. The SAA of the Tacoma charter of the Sons of Anarchy would have rather been anywhere but stuck at a goddamn union hall in Seattle, Washington, but the International Union of Painters and Allied Trades - Local 188- Glaziers, Architectural Metal and Glassworkers was on the verge of striking and it was in his best interest to know if tomorrow would find him walking a picket line

He blew out a frustrated breath and sat forward, resting his elbows on the tops of his thighs.

Shifting slightly in the seat next to him, Ronan James Winger, known to his club brothers, and the outside world as simply RJ, exhaled in a huff of annoyance. He had nothing but limitless patience when it came anything concerning the Sons – but when it came to their day jobs…not so much. Blaming Koz for dragging him into their ", goddamn mother fucking careers" was the daily focus of most of his bitching. "Does anyone know what fuckin' issues are causing the stalemate?"

"Increased contribution to health care is the main one," Koz grumbled, standing up from his seat, "I'm going outside for a smoke."

RJ chucked, the irony not lost on him. "Gotta head across the street. The union grounds are smoke free. However, the strip mall doesn't seem to give a rat's ass about the lungs of its retailers or customers."

Koz exited the building and lit up as he made his way across to a deli at the strip mall, bought a Mountain Dew, so he was technically a patron, and took a seat at an outside table. Checking his cell phone, he noticed he had missed a call and had a voice mail message from Cassie. He took a drag off his Marlboro, thumbed LISTEN and waited. The message opened with the distinct clatter of door chimes and two voices. Koz smirked as he exhaled skyward.

"_Six year old-ers can't ride in the road, Dumb-head! Cars will hit us."_

"_Lucas, shhh! I assure you, he was not aiming for your poodle… yeah, well whatever… Have a lovely day. Oh, Koz, hey baby. Delong's is out of that sealer. Otis says he can order some, be in on Tuesday or his shop in Seattle has some. Didn't know if you wanted to swing by there if you have time or just have him order it. Let me know. Hope the talks are goin' smoothly and I am certainly praying you're home by six or sooner. 'Kay later." _

He was about to call Cass back when his phone trilled to life and startled the fuck out of him. He glanced at the display. "What's up? Great, I'm on my way back now."

He shot off a quick text as he stood – _Order it_ – tucked his phone, cigarettes and lighter in his pocket and headed back toward Union Hall, downing the rest of the soda on the way.

**-O-**

It was unlikely that anyone driving past on the highway set a good fifty feet up the hill from their heads would happen to glance down over the guard rail and see four bikers waiting beneath the meager shade of some poor tree that had clawed and scraped to take root in the rocky soil of the old dried out creek basin. Still, they were careful to scan the road above and Jax tugged down the brim of his Reaper Crew hat yet again in a small show of nervous energy. Behind him, Chibs was whistling to himself. Tig stood sentry and Juice attempted to emulate the SAA's aloofness, gloved hands holding the halves of his cut open in a pose Jax had seen before.

They'd come early, and at exactly two o' clock, the sound of downshifting Harley engines radiated off the natural gulley they'd driven down to get to this secluded spot. The creek bed served as a makeshift lane that ran parallel to the highway, and the Mayans rolled into sight perfectly on schedule.

Jax waited, resting on his parked bike while the Mexican club dismounted and took off helmets and gloves. He counted Alvarez and four others – his VP, SAA and some additional muscle.

"Jax," the Mayan President extended a hand in greeting as he approached.

Jax stood and accepted the shake. "Marcus." He greeted the others in turn and heard his own crew trading shakes with the newcomers. "Your message was kinda vague," he folded his arms.

Alvarez's mustache twitched as he cast a sideways glance to his VP. "Heard SAMCRO was in deep with Charming town shit – didn't wanna risk details over the phone in case you got listenin' ears."

He frowned, not liking that their latest play at keeping Charming charming was already headline news amongst the outlaw crowd. He shook his head. "Nah, that's got nothin' to do with club business. It's all good, bro."

Alvarez didn't look convinced, but he nodded. Then again, he never looked convinced. He turned and nodded to one of his guys – a short, thickset dude in his late thirties or early forties, a bandana holding his thick hair off his face – who stepped forward, producing a rag from his pocket.

"Got a new batch of hangarounds lookin' to prospect," Alvarez said. "One of 'em disappeared a week ago. Yesterday -,"

The napkin was unfolded.

" – found this on the clubhouse steps."

Jax's brothers crowded in behind him, their heads bobbing over his shoulders, so they too could look down at what had been presented.

Fingers. Human fingers. White bones protruding from the second knuckle where they'd been severed, the meat raw and crusted with dried blood, the flesh looking like it had been torn off instead of severed cleanly with a knife.

"Christ," Chibs muttered.

"Shit," Jax said.

Tig pointed at the grisly bundle with his own finger. "Look at all that blood. Taken off when he was still kickin'."

"Who?" Jax wanted to know.

Alvarez's gaze wandered briefly up over Jax's shoulder. "Unless it was your skinnin' boy," Juice made an unhappy sound in the back of his throat, "then it was the _Bandoleros_."

"Never heard of 'em."

The Mayan Prez quirked a sideways, humorless grin. "You will. We need guns, Jax."

**-O-**

"…don't have a job to go to on Monday," Koz said as he finished recapping the oh-so-thrilling end result of the union meeting earlier in the day. He stood in front of the grill on the back deck, in charge of the night's main courses. It was Cassie's first night as MC hostess – for the whole charter and not just an impromptu visit – and the grill was laden with the token hamburgers and hot dogs for the kids, steaks, a couple of chicken breasts and some caribou burgers compliments of Mayday's recent Canadian run.

The Nomad's arrival had been a welcome surprise. Though there wasn't a guest list for Sunday family dinners – the invite was open to any member who happened to be in town with nothing better to do – the Nomads had been spending a lot of time with the southern charters lately. An hour ago, Luc had come into the kitchen and announced that " a giant was at the front door. He's got a Reaper, so I let 'im in."

Mayday had indeed looked like a giant as he'd come into the kitchen, an insulated bag of game meat in one hand. "Hey, sweetheart," he'd boomed as he'd handed it to Cass. "Fresh. Shot by yours truly 'bout a week ago." Then he'd eyed Koz. "Nice digs you got here, brother. Woulda thought The Mayor had given me bullshit intel. If it weren't for the line of Harleys in the drive, i'da kept goin'." He'd smirked at Cass. "Surpised you even let Koz in the door, let alone the rest of us."

Koz had feigned insult, "I'm completely housebroken now. You miss that tidbit in the newletter?"

"Not complain' too much," RJ told the group, picking up Koz's strike comment. "But I had my eye on new pipes and now that's gotta wait." He sighed. "Goddamn union. Goddamn job."

Koz knew the last was meant for him and shrugged the comment off, turning his attention to the rattling lid of the propane turkey fryer that was being used to steam Alaskan king crab legs. Jinx poked his twice-broken, English nose in the way as Koz lifted the lid.

"Ooh, crab…"

"Yeah, and save some for the rest of us. Shit's almost out of season."

Amid the idle chatter of the deck's occupants, VP Snapper raised his voice just enough to silence all side conversation. "Koz." He waited for an acknowledging wave of the tongs. "You said you got an interesting call from Redwood?"

Content that all things on the grill were good to sit for the time being, Koz turned around to face the lanky, white-haired VP. Snapper was a hopeless bachelor, and a bit of a hermit at times; definitely not a usual attendee when it came to Sunday dinner. Club news was probably what had pulled him in.

"Yeah," Koz nodded, "Juice. Apparently, Charming-town was in peril again."

Snapper rolled his eyes. "Anybody remember when it wasn't? Men in their suits carrying briefcases are ten-fold more dangerous than men in their cuts carrying guns."

"What does the mother charter need from us?" Glen asked.

Koz gave the quick version of the rambling story Juice had delivered over the phone earlier that day. "Manual labor," he answered his president's question. "Tools. Probably a presence too, if I had to guess. No way is that asshole Hale gonna take Jax's little coup lying down."

"No shit," several mumbled.

"Be lucky if there isn't a sudden rash of arson," RJ said.

Glen sighed. "While I don't necessarily believe Charming's ever gonna outrun progress, can't blame Teller for wantin' to keep it Mayberry as long as he's able. This is all about Charming," he warned, "it's got shit to do with makin' coin flippin' houses."

There were nods all around.

"Have at it if they need you."

"'Kay," Koz said. "RJ and I are on strike, so we're gonna head South, lend a hand. Thinkin' about askin' Byron and maybe Paulie - they know the roofing biz this be a good time for them to get away before business picks back up with the warm weather. Jinx is chompin' at the bit to vacate town for a while, figured he could help out Juice on anything electrical... " his thought was cut off by the arrival of Luc on the back deck.

"Hi, guys."

Koz eyed his brothers; none seemed phased by the interruption, this setting was conducive to that sort of thing. "What's up, brat?"

Luc seemed to study him for a moment. "Need to ask you somethin'..."

Internally, Koz cringed. He was learning you could never anticipate the shit that was going come out of the mouths of kids, especially _this_ kid. "What?"

He watched the six-year-old glance around and step a little closer. But Luc wasn't so subtle as to lower his voice. "So, you like to play with my mom right?"

Koz blinked, praying that he'd heard the kid wrong, but a cursory glance around dispelled that thought quickly. Several of his brothers wore amused, shocked expressions. Glen was pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut, shaking his head. Snapper sat slack-jawed with his cigarette dangling out his mouth but his eyes twinkled with amusement. Jinx was laughing silently, mouth agape, shoulders bouncing. Mayday eyed Koz with an amused _what the hell_ look. He gauged all that in the space of a few seconds, then, frowning, asked,"what?"

Luc blinked. "Sophia wants to play with us, but Brax and Keegan and Raj say girls have cooties and can't. And I told 'em my mom's a girl and she don't got cooties, right? 'Cause you wouldn't like her if she did."

Koz felt one corner of his mouth twitch in a smirk. "Sure." He swore he could see the gears shifting in the kid's head.

"So did my mom get a shot or somethin'?"

"You should probably go ask her."

Luc nodded and headed inside. The moment the French doors clicked shut, uproarious laughter erupted on the deck.

Snapper grinned. "You are in _way_ over your head, son."

Koz rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ!"

RJ shook his head. "That was almost better than last week when he told us we needed to eat his mom's pie 'cause it's awesome."

**-O-**

Despite Cassie's worries – or maybe because of them – and Janine's good natured threats to rate the evening on some sort of self-invented grading scale, the dinner went off without a hitch, and though Koz loved his brothers, he was glad to see them off when the evening wound down.

RJ and Mayday were the last two out the door, and they paused in the kitchen to thank their hostess. Cass was at the sink, hand washing the plates and cups that hadn't fit into this round of the dishwasher. Koz recognized the fatigue in her face, the way her lips seemed slack at the corners, her brow knitted together. She scrounged up a smile for the guys though.

RJ gave her a two-fingered salute. "Later, sweetheart."

"Bye, honey."

Mayday stepped in to give her a hug, and Koz had the fleeting hope that the guy didn't crush her to death. "Thanks, Cass. Dinner was delicious. Company was fantastic."

"I cooked, I entertained, she gets all the love," Koz griped.

Mayday chuckled and glanced back at him once he'd set Cassie on her feet. "You really want my love?"

"Well, I don't want your hate, but nah, I'll let her proxy."

"Don't be a stranger," Cassie told the big Nomad.

Koz walked them to their bikes after they'd both refused Cass's offer of a plate of leftovers to take home. RJ was off first, but Mayday lingered a moment, fishing a smoke out of his cut and lighting it up as he sat sideways on the seat of his Harley. "What's buggin' you?" he asked Koz.

The SAA shrugged with his eyebrows, surprised May, of all people, had picked up on his mood. Maybe RJ and the others had just gotten used to it throughout the evening. Sometimes fresh eyes saw things more clearly. "Nothin'," he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. "Just thinking this trip to Cali leaves the home front a little…unprotected."

"Tacoma's got more guys than Redwood and Fresno put together," Mayday said. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, glinting in the glow of the streetlight. "But you ain't talkin' about the club, are you?"

_Busted. _He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Not used to havin' innocents around when shit goes down."

"Ukrainians? Snapper said you were having problems."

"Not yet," he winced. "But we may have poked a stick in that ant nest. Got a tip from Thompson and his crew that Ukes were movin' in to the area. Glen had us do some recon at the docks and got there in the middle of a goddamn truck jacking."

Mayday cracked a grin. "So like any concerned citizen…"

"Took the truck out from under 'em. May or may not have put a few of 'em in the drink. Jackpot though - rig was loaded down with cases of cigarettes."

"Get good money for that."

"No shit." They'd already stowed the merchandise somewhere safe and were reaching out through the proper channels about moving the cigs. The truck had been found by highway patrol, torched and devoid of all fingerprints, smoking under an overpass. "Taking two cases to Charming, little present for His Majesty."

Mayday chuckled. "That'll be appreciated." Then he sobered. "So what's the blowback lookin' like for this stunt?"

"Dunno. We don't even know if those guys know it was Sons who jumped them that night."

"How long you gonna be in Charming?"

"Few weeks maybe. Cass is buggin' me about coming down to see Juice's kid when it's born, which, considering what's going on up here, I'm all for that."

The Nomad nodded. Took a drag on his smoke. "You need me to stick around up here for a while?"

Koz was deeply and truly touched – his family was being folded into the club family – but at the same time, he was not a guy who liked putting his burdens off on other people. His girl knew how to shoot, knew the combination to the gun safe he'd demanded be installed in her closet, and she had sharp, careful eyes. "Nah, Cass…she's good, knows how to take care of herself. Tends to cook too much, when she's bored... probably get some good grub if you stop by. Kid'll drive you up the wall with knock-knock jokes."

He smiled. "Been a while since I heard a good knock-knock joke. Your family'll be fine, bro."

After Mayday was gone, the growl of his engine fading down the otherwise quiet street, Koz stood on the driveway drinking in the night air a moment, returning to the same old mental argument he'd had with himself a hundred times. Families were weak spots. They made everything more difficult, complicated, gave him something to lose. That sense of responsibility was heavy and not something he relished. Of course, he'd already capitulated to this argument, so it was stupid to bring it up again.

With one last thoughtful glance at the stars, he returned inside and found Cassie still toweling off the last of the dishes. From behind, he could see the fatigued slump of her shoulders and the stiff way she held her neck to try and keep up the appearance of bright alertness. He knew she loved his brothers because she wasn't that good of an actress, but knew she was gracious enough to have made them feel welcome even if she hadn't – but she did, she liked his boys and their women. She'd prepped this dinner, had covered for Janine at the shop. She routinely took Jinx and some of the others muffins or doughnuts at the pool hall the club owned and managed. And at home, she washed blood and grease out of his clothes without comment, cooked his meals, kept the space in which he lived tidy, comfortable, and clean-smelling – which he couldn't say about himself when left to his own devices – was generous in bed…

Glen had told him once that though the majority of them were parasites, there were some women who were "worth it". He'd thought Juice was being a pompous dumbass when the overeager kid had imparted the _wisdom_ that it didn't take all that much to keep a girl happy.

But when he stepped up behind Cass because he wanted to, not because he had to, and slid his arms around her waist, rested his chin on top of her dark head and he heard the happy little murmur she gave him in greeting, he thought both his brothers had been right. Some were worth it – it if the worry and the responsibility drove you crazy – and it really didn't take much to keep them happy. Yeah, he'd conceded to that argument: conceded to it time and time again despite all the logical reasons he shouldn't have wanted a woman with a kid, conceded to it when he'd fallen in love and it had lasted longer than three hours. When he'd introduced her to his club, when he'd moved in, when he'd asked her to be his family.

"Thank you," he told her and she chuckled.

"For what?"

"Puttin' up with all of them."

"I _like_ them," she said, setting the last dish down and twisting in his arms so she faced him, the small of her back pressed against the edge of the counter. Her smile was soft, sleepy, and she tipped her head back, exposing her throat in one of those unconscious gestures of trust. She didn't fill up the space between them with unnecessary words: was content just to exist like this.

The rumble of the TV in the next room kept him from picking her up and setting her on the counter. Instead he said, "I gotta head south to Redwood in a couple days."

Her green eyes went wide, smile curling up her face. "Ava?" she gasped.

Inwardly, Koz grinned. You couldn't fake that kind of excitement. He was glad the women in his life were getting along, had heard Cassie's half of many a phone conversation between the two of them and saw Ava's name in the address line of a lot of emails. "Nah, that bun's still baking. Gotta go help the mother charter save Mayberry."

She nodded. "I still wanna go," she warned, "when the baby's born."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he pretended to grumble. But secretly, he was glad of the possible trip. If shit hit the fan in Tacoma, a fourteen hour drive might be just the thing to keep Cass out of the fray.

**TBC**


	3. Easy Come, Easy Go

**3. Easy Come, Easy Go**

Chibs woke with a start, and then realized his Old Lady was shaking him.

"Baby," her hand swatted at his shoulder again and his eyes roved across the dark bedroom, searching for the cause of her alarm.

Then he heard a dull knocking echo through the house.

"Someone's at the door," Maggie said and when he rolled his head toward her, he saw that she was largely unconcerned: on her back, eyes shut, her words heavy with sleep.

He checked the bedside clock and saw that it was just after three. "Who the fuck?" He could still party with the best of them, could _stay up till_ three, but _waking_ up at that time made him feel about a hundred.

"Dunno," Maggie rolled over onto her side and her voice became muffled by the pillow. "But whoever it is won't go away."

_The club, _was his first thought, but he nixed that because one of the guys would have called him. Then he wondered if it was Ava, but again, what was the point of having a bloody phone if you didn't use it? Finally deciding that, in this town, knocks on the door shouldn't be ignored, he climbed out of bed and picked his gun up off the nightstand. Barefoot, in boxers and a wifebeater, armed, he went down the hall to the living room and to the door.

"Whoa!" in the glow of the porch light, Juice leapt back as the door was opened and the gun was thrust in his face. "Dude, it's me!"

"I know, and I'm gonna shoot your ass for wakin' me up!"

The kid sighed, lowered his raised arms, and that was when Chibs saw the slip of paper in his hand. "Sorry, bro, I just had to tell somebody."

The Scot lowered his .45 and ushered him inside. "Show me what?" he grumbled as he latched the door again. "You couldn't a gone home and shown your wife?"

The grumpiness did not appear to phase Juice. In the dark of the foyer, his eyes seemed big as moons, white all around the edges. His smile was slightly crazed. "I," he held up the slip of paper, "just won the two-hundred grand jackpot!"

"What?"

"I won the fucking lottery!"

**-O-**

Juice was being weird. And as Ava smoothed her loose, racer back tunic over her leggings one last time and stepped out of the exam room, "weird" was not a place she wanted her hubby to be after the doc had just told her that the baby was coming any day now. She slung her purse over her shoulder and switched back and forth through the short maze of hallways toward the lobby and entrance of the OBGYN's office. Past chairs full of other pregnant women, through the double glass doors and out of the serene peach-and-mint offices back into the sterile white walls of St. Thomas. As she walked, waddled more like it, toward the hospital's main entrance of the hospital where she was supposed to meet Tara, she reflected on her Old Man's odd behavior.

She'd stirred about five this morning to the movement of the bed beneath her. He'd been at the clubhouse when she'd turned in around midnight, and claimed he'd been home by one, but she didn't believe it. She was used to his sporadic attention span, but he'd been zoned out to a point of being comatose. She'd blamed it on stress and fatigue – the house flipping project was hitting roadblock after roadblock, and it was draining all of them – but now, it was bothering her again.

Tara was, as promised, leaning against the main reception station, chatting with one of the admins, back in her street clothes. Juice had needed her truck so he'd dropped her off and Tara had been getting off shortly, so she'd offered to wait and give her a lift home.

As she approached, Ava watched the doctor glance up from the conversation she'd been having and glance her way. The receptionist – a thick-set, matronly woman whose hair looked like a blonde helmet – looked her way too, and Ava didn't miss the fleeting expression of disapproval that flickered across her face. Then the phone rang and the moment was gone in an instant, the receptionist returning to her job, but the meaning had been clear: anyone who knew anything about her situation, whether from Tara or from the streaming flow of Sons and Old Ladies in and out of the hospital, didn't think too highly club women reproducing. Least of all a twenty-three-year-old who was pregnant with her second child by a second father.

"Everything go okay?" Tara asked as she straightened from against the counter and adjusted the strap of her cross-body purse.

"Yeah," Ava sighed, not because she wanted to, but because the baby was again giving her an internal beating. So far, they'd found the thing that quieted him the best was really loud, really obnoxious music, the iHome radio sitting right beside her belly. Juice was psyched that he was an Audioslave fan in the womb. "He said any day now. Could be tomorrow, could be two weeks from now."

A little smile twisted Tara's lips. "My last couple of weeks with Johnny were torture. Come on, I'll buy you lunch."

As they headed for the door side-by-side, a man in a suit came in through the air lock, head down, looking like he was in a hurry. Ava's spine stiffened before his gaze came up and landed on the two of them: Jacob Hale.

Recognition hastened his step, but did not put a smile on his face as he clearly shifted his planned route and came toward them. Had she been alone, Ava might have ducked him and kept walking – talking to him was not going to be rewarding in any sense of the word – but having Tara there bolstered her confidence that little extra inch, and Tara, as she came to a halt, obviously hadn't intended to bypass him anyway. Ava checked her eye roll: the good doctor got brave when it wasn't necessary, but she stopped too and folded her arms over her rounded stomach.

"Good afternoon, ladies," he drew up in front of them and leaned in, in what Ava guessed was an intentional move, crowding them and emphasizing his height advantage. He was one of those people who made her skin crawl: he oozed creepiness. He swapped a look between them. "Glad I ran into you."

"Yeah, well," Tara lifted her little nose defiantly, "we were just leaving."

He held out a hand, palm to the floor, to stay them. "This won't take long. I just have a quick question." A sleazy partial smile broke across his face. When his eyes cut over to Ava, she frowned at him. Inside her, the baby kicked sharply.

"We just have a second," Tara conceded.

He shifted a half a step closer to them, again with the intimidation tactics. "My associate Joel Watson – do you know him?"

Of course they didn't. "No," they said at once.

"Well, it's the weirdest thing. Joel was supposed to be on the courthouse steps the morning of the auction – I had a meeting, you see – so he was going to act as the bank for me and purchase the homes that, coincidently, you girls bought."

"Coincidently," Ava repeated with a little snort, earning a sharp look from the banker.

"Not much of an associate, then," Tara said.

"That's what I thought," Hale feigned confusion. "Apparently, he was detained." He paused for effect, eyes moving between them. "He accidently got himself locked in the trunk of his car for two hours."

Ava didn't know who the fuck Joel was, or that he was supposed to have been at the courthouse, but she knew who _did_ know: her husband. And his brothers. She and Tara shared a look and then the doctor turned to Hale.

"I hope he's alright."

"The lock sprang on its own."

Obviously, there had been no accident, and no doubt a prospect had been left with the duty of hitting the trunk release on the remote and then running like mad. Far from an illegal act, it had still done the job. Suppressing a smile, Ava hooked her hand through the other woman's elbow and tugged her toward the door. Tara complied.

"It's never gonna work," Hale called to their backs. "A change is coming, girls. Might as well get your men on board before it's too late."

Once outside, despite the bright sun, Ava felt a shudder run down her spine. Hale was wrong: things were never going to change.

Tara was silent until they were locked safely inside her Yukon and the engine was running, the AC ruffling their hair. "You know," she mused, staring through the windshield. "Charming's gonna go commercial one of these days. SAMCRO is like…a guy with a shovel facing off from a bulldozer." She shook her head. "But Jax thinks it can be saved." She glanced over at Ava, doubt shimmering in her eyes. "And I gotta believe in what he does."

It wasn't posed as a question, but it begged for an answer just the same. The doctor had said before, in fits of frustration, that she didn't understand how Ava could be so blindly supportive of the club. She nodded. "That's what we gotta do. It's what we _can_ do – that's why we're Old Ladies and not crow eaters."

Tara sighed and put the truck in gear.

**-O-**

Koz had always wondered how a charter so small, in a town so tiny, managed to always be neck-deep in some kind of shit. As luck would have it, just as SAMCRO was enacting one of its Save-Charming, social-good-will plans with the house flipping, a full-scale gang war was erupting in Oakland. The Mayans and Niners both wanted guns – not, they'd said, to use on one another – and had paid cash in advance, anxious for the merchandise to come trickling down the Irish pipeline.

So it was odd to be standing in the middle of a house full of power equipment, hanging windows while some of his brothers were off making a gun drop.

"Bathroom next?" RJ asked from behind him.

Koz stood back from the double-paned window he'd just secured in its sill and nodded, satisfied with the job he'd done. "Yeah," knelt and picked up the hammer at his feet.

His brother preceded him into the master bath and the sound of his chuckle reverberated off the tile. "Bro, you gotta come see this shit."

All he saw when he when he stepped in the threshold was a whole hell of a lot of pink tile. It wasn't beige with a hint of pink, it was really fucking pink. Pepto-Bismol pink. Koz was not into decorating and all that shit, but even he knew this was bad. "Goddamn," he muttered. "Glad I ain't the one rippin' all this up."

"Nah, up there," RJ pointed toward the window above the big Jacuzzi tub.

Koz grinned when he saw it: the stained glass, octagonal window. A single, bright red rose had been crafted from colored glass fragments, its stem green and full of thorns. Each of the window's eight fragments was bordered by tiny glass rosettes, and with the afternoon light coming into the bathroom, the color effect was dazzling.

"Cass would love this," he said. When she'd picked out that lamp for Juice and Ava's wedding present, he'd seen the longing way she'd stared at it: she'd wanted one for herself. This wasn't a lamp, but it was still roses and glass and she had a big soaking tub at home with a dinky little window above it at home.

"I was thinkin' this damn stop sign window was gonna be a pain in the fuckin' ass to replace," RJ said, rolling his eyes. "But of course your whipped ass thought about your Old Lady."

Koz gave him a light pop in the arm with the side of his fist. "Asshole."

"Yep."

"Hey, Koz, you in there?" a female voice called from back in the bedroom.

He recognized the speaker immediately and was suddenly surprised by the knowledge that he'd been in town two days already and hadn't spoken to her yet. "Hey, Lil Bit," he said as he turned around. "You…" the words died in his throat as Ava came into view.

Kozik had seen lots of pregnant women before: brothers' Old Ladies, chicks he passed on the street, but he really couldn't have been bothered to recall what exactly being almost nine months pregnant looked like. Ava was still Ava – slender arms and legs, slim face, black leggings and flip-flops – but it looked like she was smuggling a beach ball under her shirt. Her extra weight was all stomach, and she had to lean back at an awkward angle to accommodate her misshapen belly. Christ, she'd have a fit if she knew she looked "misshapen", but she did. How did that not hurt like a bitch? How could a person even walk like that? He was, unexpectedly, disturbed to see someone he cared about in this condition.

"Damn, you're huge," he blurted before he could help himself.

She cocked a single eyebrow. "I always figured Juice was lying when he said I still looked hot."

He recovered quickly, though it was still hard to see the little girl he'd always known as the pregnant woman in front of him. "What I meant was -,"

"Uh-huh, I know what you meant," but she was smiling as she said it and came into the room, arms outstretched as if for a hug.

Koz didn't even know if he _could_ hug her, so he turned sideways and put an arm across her shoulders: those were at least still normal size. "You doin' alright?" he asked her.

"Not bad for a huge person," she quipped. "The diner's not giving me hours. I think they're afraid I'm gonna whelp right there in front of the lunch counter." She sighed, paced away a step, giving him the slightly horrifying side-view of her belly. Then she turned a smile his way. "So how are things up north?" Her smile was a more coy version of Chibs' suggestive look.

"I got windows to hang," he said evasively, withholding a grin at her crestfallen expression. "Come see what you think about this."

She followed him, waddling, to the doorway of the bathroom, where RJ greeted her with a nod and a "hey, darlin'". Ava's eyes narrowed as she studied the stained glass. A smile slowly spread across her face. "I know someone who loves roses."

"You too, huh?"

"What?"

"Nothing."

She stood well out of the way and filled him in on all the Charming happenings while he and RJ grunted and cussed and worked to remove the window, pretending to listen to her, adding an "uh-huh" every so often. His boys had of course downloaded relevant intel immediately upon arrival, but he wasn't going to tell her that: let her chatter away like a happy, pregnant little bird. There had been a time when she'd stared at her feet and couldn't be bothered to smile, so he wasn't going to discourage her perkiness. She was worlds away from the girl who'd carried Sam.

Afterward, she walked with him to curb as he carried out the rose window.

"Shouldn't you be sitting down or something?"

The comment earned him another sideways look. "My back's bothering me, so the walking helps. Besides, I think my ride's about to roll out."

Koz glanced up the sidewalk and saw Jax's Old Lady walking toward them.

"Oh," Ava said as the other girl approached. "We ran into Hale at St. Thomas. Tell the guys to be on the lookout, I don't trust that asshole."

"Sure," he chuckled, deciding he wouldn't tell her how Gemma-like she'd just sounded.

"Hey," Tara called, "trash is in the roll-top dumpster up the street." She turned to Ava. "Ready to go?"

Koz looked down at the window in his arms and realized she'd meant for him to throw the thing out. "Nah, I'm keeping this."

The doctor whipped her head around in his direction and Koz wondered how many interactions the two of them had ever had. Not many. Her brows twitched together. "You are? Who'd wanna put _that_ up somewhere?"

He grinned. "My Old Lady."

**-O-**

Mental stress added a whole new level to fatigue, and Juice was realizing that the excited high he'd been riding since he'd scratched that magic ticket hadn't lessened that fatigue. He hated how fucking responsible he was being. Ten years ago, had he just won two hundred grand, he would have been in a hot tub in Vegas, a showgirl under each arm, a new bike in the parking lot. But now, he debated investments. He was going to put one hell of a down payment on a house for his family.

But first, he had to make a gun drop, run over to Cedar Lane and see if Jinx needed help wiring in the new chandelier in 4367, see if he could clock a few hours in the shop and maybe limp home in time to see his pregnant Old Lady before she collapsed for the night.

"Any day," she'd said on the phone when she'd called a few minutes before. Race – he did have to hand it to her on the kid's nickname – was coming any fucking day.

"Dude," Carter said beside him in the passenger seat of Ava's black Ford. "You there?"

Juice gave himself a mental shake, knowing he'd been on total autopilot, driving without seeing, which was not what you wanted to do as you rolled into Oakland. "Yeah."

"You missed our turn."

"Shit."

He pulled into a McDonald's and turned around, the unhappy clanging on the transmission reminding him the truck needed to have the fluid levels checked again. One damn thing after another. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

He glanced over and saw Carter shrug as they pulled back out into traffic.

"If you came into some money all of a sudden -,"

"How much money?"

"A lot. What would you do? New car for the missus, new bike, all the baby shit you need, put it away in your kids' college funds…you know, if you had kids."

Carter snorted.

"Or would you spend it all on something big, like, say…"

"A house?"

He shot a sideways glanced and saw, in one of those rare everyday moments of clarity, that Preppy was looking a lot more grown up lately. Tired, with lines around his eyes, sunburned and worn out. "Mia's knocked up," he said after a moment of tense silence in the cab of the truck.

Juice felt his brows inch up his forehead. "Damn. You serious?"

"I'm so fucked."

"Well…technically, she was fucked first," Juice chuckled at his own lame joke.

Carter rolled his eyes, but cracked a grin. "Shit, bro. What am I gonna do?"

"Not a fucking thing you can do."

Another silence fell, the sun coming through the tinted windows warm on arms and faces. "Buy the house," Carter said after a beat. "The other shit you can worry about later."

Juice nodded, though somewhat grimly, taking a firm grip on the wheel with one hand, leaning against the window with the other. He knew his OCD tendencies were getting the best of him: he worried about everything all at once, at a million miles an hour.

"So she's pregnant," he said, wincing internally as he thought about Carter's skittish Old Lady. "You forget to wrap it up?"

"Something like tha -,"

A car swerved in front of them, bouncing down off the curb of the Hispanic grocery store to their right, cutting across two of the street's four lanes and forcing Juice into oncoming traffic.

"Fuck!"

"Oh, shit!"

They were in a crowded little stretch of road, business standing shoulder-to-rundown-shoulder, a dozen pedestrians on the sidewalks, both on foot and on bicycles. And there were other cars on the road: lots of them. The van coming toward them came to a screeching halt, smoke billowing up as rubber was laid down on the asphalt. Juice cranked the wheel hard right, back into his lane, but also into the side of the offending car. Steel screamed against steel as the vehicles rubbed together, and then he punched the gas and pulled ahead.

"Holy shit," he exhaled in a rush, palms now clammy on the wheel. His pulse thumped in his ears, its rhythm erratic. Juice glanced around, checking the truck's mirrors and windows. "You alright?"

"Yeah…"

And that was when they both heard the _thump-thump-thump_ coming from under the truck. Carter's blue eyes went wide. "Flat tire."

**-O-**

"What the fuck do you mean you _lost the guns_?"

Juice stared down at his boots, scrubbing at his mohawk, wishing the asphalt would crack open and swallow him up. He'd had a similar, less flamboyant version of this conversation in the tow truck with Ope on the way back to Charming, but he knew he more than deserved the thunderous look on Jax's face. They were standing beneath the clubhouse's pavilion, and one of the prospects had at least brought Carter an ice pack for his face – kid was going to have one hell of a shiner, and thanks to the swelling, Chibs had predicted his orbital was fractured.

Juice had repeated the tale to the President: his theory that when the car had jumped the curb and nearly collided with them, it had been a cover for shooting out the truck's rear tire, and that once they'd limped down a side street, the gun thieves had boxed them in on either side of the alley, armed, masked, and far outnumbering them.

"We're lucky they ain't dead," Bobby said with a snort.

Jax ran a hand down his bristled chin and closed his eyes a moment. "Shit." His nod conceded that, yeah, he was glad his boys were okay, but that didn't help the situation. "You didn't get a look at 'em at all?" he glanced to Juice.

"They all had ski masks," he twisted his face up in sincere apology. For as much as his brothers were cussing him, his internal reprimand to himself was far worse. "They were speaking Spanish."

"_Bandoleros,_" Tig said, "gotta be."

Juice had wondered that too – the Latino street gang had been pushing into Mayan turf for the past six months or so – and if that was the case, this had been a declaration of war.

"Shit," Jax said again. "Alvarez already paid for that hardware."

"And we already spent it on the houses," Ope said.

Koz made a face and dug a pack of smokes from his cut pocket. "We gotta get the guns back."

"Or come up with a hundred grand for Alvarez," Bobby said.

"Guns back," Koz repeated.

Juice slumped sideways and let one of the pavilion's support columns support his weight. A lump rose in his throat that may or may not have been the result of the right hook he'd taken to the head earlier. Nausea made him swallow reflexively, his gut churned. "I got some money," he said. It felt like he'd whispered the words, but suddenly everyone was staring at him.

"What?" Jax demanded.

"It's my fault, so I'll…I'll pay Alvarez back."

**-O-**

As the night grew late, Sam was nearing what Ava liked to call his crash-and-burn stage; his last rallying burst of energy before he was overcome by sleepiness and passed out on the floor. He was fussy after his bath, fighting fatigue because, as she was learning, the older he became, the more his stubborn streak shone through. She sat on the floor with him, legs stretched out in front of her, weight resting on one arm, feeling nothing short of a beached whale. Ava would roll a ball or a toy truck toward Sam and he'd push it around a bit before turning back to her.

"Aren't you ready for bed?" she asked and he sucked loudly on his pacifier in answer. "I'm ready for bed, I can tell ya that."

Beyond the living room, in the kitchen, keys rattled in the back door. The alarm system chimed a greeting. Sam swiveled around, looking toward the noise.

"Hi, baby," Ava called, sitting up as straight as possible and tucking her legs up under herself.

Juice took his sweet time coming into the room, and when he did, he propped a shoulder in the threshold and lingered, forehead creased with some kind of obvious stress. He was never subtle: his brows were knitted together and his eyes were big as chocolate moons, full of emotion. He glanced down at Sam and twitched a quick smile. "He's still awake?"

"Sadly, yes." Ava stifled a yawn and tried to decide if she should leave her Old Man alone, or ask what was so obviously bothering him. She settled for the latter. "You okay?"

He looked exhausted. He'd been pulling overtime at T-M before the houses had been bought, and now was contributing to the charter-wide restoration of the homes over on Cedar Lane. That, and she'd seen the tense faces, the not-so-crafty glances among the guys the other night: there was club drama afoot too. But he nodded and came into the room, plopped down on the carpet and set cross-legged in front of her.

Sam made his way over to him and Juice pulled the boy up into his lap, asked for a hug that was given, and then Sammy was off again, tottering across the room toward his basket of toys by the sofa.

"You're working too hard," she stated the obvious.

He snorted.

Ava started to stand. "Come on. I'll put him to bed and then I think you're due a back rub." Sadly, in her current state of pregnancy, it would only be a back rub, and nothing extracurricular. "Sound good?"

His eyes came up to meet hers, but his head stayed down. "I won the lottery."

She blinked. Her mouth fell open. "Are you_ serious_? Oh my…Juice, that's -,"

"Don't," he held up a hand, glancing down again in disgust. "I shouldn't have even told you." He sighed. "The club needs the money."

As quickly as excitement had burst to life inside her, it faded, and was replaced with a deep, sad sympathy. "Juice," she sat back down. "Baby," she tried again when he still wouldn't look at her. He looked so completely dejected and ashamed, it broke her heart. "It's okay."

"The house, the one you like," he shook his head and made a face, " I was gonna get that for us, for you, and the boys…Christ, we're in so far over our heads with this shit with Oswald. The houses…"

"Hey." His eyes finally met hers. "You do not ever have to explain to me how the club comes first. Okay? I'm crazy SAMCRO cheerleader all the way, right?"

Juice almost smiled. "I know that."

"We don't need the house," she said with a conviction she didn't feel. "We'll be fine." Because that's what Old Ladies had to do: lift their men up and pretend everything was "fine". Keep the house a haven for their men, keep them fed and happy. And somehow figure out a way to get hold of a shitload of money.

**-O-**

Juice didn't sleep well. Every one of Ava's sweet, consoling touches felt like adding insult to injury, like she pitied him, or like he was so simple-minded as to think everything would actually be fine because she said so. It wasn't her fault, she was being a good girl and he knew that, but it bugged him anyway. Breakfast had been silent and stiff. And now his morning at the garage was proving one fuckup after the other.

He'd forgotten to put a catch pan beneath the car whose oil he'd been changing, and then he'd had to throw sawdust over the mess – at least, until he'd given up and ordered one of the prospects to do it. He had no patience for Chibs' attempts to alleviate his mood. He mashed his hand trying to pull a battery out of a truck. And he didn't have time to do anything about Ava's truck, which he was now intent on repainting since the Mexi crew that had jumped him now knew what her ride looked like. He was being a cranky brat and knew it, but couldn't get his mood turned around. And that was all before Diane showed up.

He was taking a lunch break, choking down a package of dry roasted peanuts from the vending machine when he saw the silver Ford Focus Maggie's mother was driving these days pull to a stop in front of the office. Assuming she was there to see Mags, he didn't move at first, and when he finally registered that she was headed straight for his position up against the front wall of the garage, stubbornness kept him rooted in place.

Diane Lawson was not the genetic source of Ava's pretty, slim face or her slender curves. She was a boxy woman, broad-shouldered and thickset. She wore her blonde hair in an efficient, unfashionable short cut. She had to be almost seventy these days, but age had only served to harden and pinch her face, rather than soften it. Her gaze was shrewd when she drew to a halt in front of him, her purse clutched in front of her.

"Jean Carlos," she greeted stiffly. She always insisted on calling Chibs "Filip" too. "I visited Ava this morning."

Juice shrugged with his eyebrows and said nothing. Diane didn't like him on a good day, he wasn't about to open his mouth on a bad day and start some shit.

She sighed and reached into her purse, withdrawing a distinctive-looking slip of paper. "Here," she extended it toward him. "I'm only doing this because I want my granddaughter to be happy and well cared for."

Juice took the check though he didn't want to and glanced down at it, a lump congealing in his gut when he saw how many zeros the old woman had written.

**-O-**

In a secret, guilty part of her mind, Ava was thankful her hours had been cut back because it meant she didn't have to rely on Neeta or her grandmother to look after Sam. Did she want to be out there making money? Yes. But she liked being with her kid too. Especially when she felt like a beluga whale shuffling around the house.

She was reading to him in hopes of lulling him into the nap he needed to take when she heard a bike come down the street and turn into the drive. The familiar rhythm of Juice's footfalls coming up the back steps allayed her spike of curiosity and she relaxed back against the couch cushion. Sam patted at the page and said "duck" in reference to the yellow duck they were reading about, but she waited to see why her Old Man had come home in the middle of the day.

When he stepped into the living room, Juice's face was a thunderhead. It wasn't often that he brought that kind of radiating aggression home. His shoulders were jacked up and his already big eyes threatened to pop out of his skull. Ava wasn't frightened, but she was taken aback. "Hey, baby…"

"Are you shitting me?" he demanded in a voice that would have been more appropriate coming out of Hap's mouth. "You went to your _grandmother_? Are you _trying_ to make me look like a jackass?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

With outraged calm, he reached into his cut and withdrew a crumpled up wad of paper. When he stalked toward her, she wrapped an arm protectively around Sam. "Don't -,"

"I'm not!" he said in exasperation. But he checked his stride and, despite the anger on his face, was gentle when he put the paper in her hand and then backed away.

Ava gasped when she realized she held one of Diane's checks. "Juice," she flashed pleading eyes up to him. "I swear, I didn't ask her to do this. You've gotta believe that."

He snorted. He looked so disgusted with her, it made her chest tight. "Whatever."

When he was gone, Ava let her head fall back against the couch cushion with a tired sigh. "Fantastic."

**TBC**


	4. Requite

**4. Requite **

…

**The Future**

The slow, measured rush of the waves that lapped at the beach sounded like the world breathing; the earth inhaling and exhaling. Ava had lived the vast majority of her life in California, but she wasn't sure she'd ever seen the sun shine like this. And the heat from the sand radiated up through the towel they were reclining on, her thighs and back burning: a wonderful sensation. This section of beach was sparsely populated and she didn't feel so self-conscious about letting the halves of her crochet cover-up fall to the sides so her pale body could tan.

"I still can't believe you did this," she said for what must have been the hundredth time.

In front of her, sitting upright, watching the waves, as gloriously tan as he'd been the day she'd married him thirty years before, Juice smiled back at her over his shoulder. "I still can't believe you keep saying you still can't believe this."

She picked up a slender foot and poked him in the ribs with her big toe, drawing a cigarette-deepened laugh from him. "I love it," she said, voice softening. And she did. Their honeymoon at Shelter Cove, in the rain, with her sliced foot, had been perfection. But when he'd surprised her with Mexico, with a real honeymoon, all these years later, how could she have refused?

Ava shaded her eyes with her hand so she could read all the names inked into the skin of his back. Ava. Sam. Jean Cortez. Lolita. All of them tattooed so they looked carved into the trunk of the tree. And then the branches of his tattoo family tree for the grandkids. Kash. Alaina. Zeke. A smile touched her lips: he'd need room for more branches soon, at least two.

"Juicy," she murmured and he lay down beside her, flat on his back, his head turned toward her. "Thank you."

He smiled, and even though his face was lined and the stubble on his chin was heavily flecked with gray – he'd never gone totally gray, bless his Latino bloodlines – his smile was the same. Both their biological children had inherited it. She kept a permanent copy in her brain. "You needed the break," he said.

And she had. But better than time to relax was time alone with _him_.

She reached for him first, but he met her halfway. The sun was in her eyes, so she closed them, and when he kissed her, she imagined she was sixteen and he was thirty-two. And she was twenty-one and devastated. Twenty-two and elated. Twenty-three and pregnant again. Twenty-seven and welcoming baby number three. Thirty-three and wanting reassurances that he still wanted her. Forty and sleepy, stealing a quiet morning moment with him. She was all those ages and older, all those people at once, and he had been, and was, her man.

**The Relative Present**

"So you're not talking to me? At all?"

The muscles in Juice's back rippled beneath the ink tree that held her name and Sam's as he stood up from the edge of the bed. They'd spent all night at far ends of the mattress, not touching, and Ava had awakened to find him sitting up, staring moodily at the floor. He didn't respond at all as he headed for the bathroom, her disbelieving eyes following him.

It was stupid, and she knew attributed to a hormone spike on her part, but she always seemed to want him most when he was livid with her. Go figure.

Pushing down her ridiculous, rebellious libido – knowing she was too huge to do anything about it regardless – she threw off the covers and began the arduous process of climbing out of bed. She was slammed with indigestion and breathlessness the moment she was on her feet, but she took several deep breaths and went to prop herself up in the threshold of the open bathroom door. She rested her head against the doorjamb and waited while he took his morning piss, washed his hands and face, squeezed toothpaste on his toothbrush.

She had felt bad all week, cramping and plagued by heartburn and a number of other unpleasant sensations. Juice's eyes flicked in her direction a moment and she knew he saw her expression of discomfort.

"I did not," she said slowly, "ask my meddlesome grandmother for money."

"You…" whatever else he said was lost in a garble of toothpaste froth and he scowled at her single raised brow. He spit and tried again. "You do not talk shit about me with her. With anybody!" he sounded more indignant and hurt than angry. His pride was good and wounded. "Why can't you just be a good Old Lady? Huh?"

Ava felt her heartburn double in intensity. She gulped, the sting of his words stirring up all kinds of latent emotions and worries. "I _am_ a good Old Lady," she defended, but the tight knot of pain at the base of her throat dulled the bite she'd intended the words to have.

He spit again, ran water in the sink basin, and tossed his toothbrush back in the holder with a snort that was intended – and was successful – to cause her further self-doubt. He was reaching in to turn on the shower taps when Ava sucked in a loud breath and doubled over, grabbing at the edge of the counter to steady herself.

A fierce stab of pain had ignited suddenly deep within her swollen body and had radiated outward, a rolling, gripping cramp that took all the air out of her lungs.

Juice was in front of her in an instant, his hands hovering in front of her. He stood there the long moments it took her for the sensation to lessen. "Braxton Hicks?" he asked knowingly. She'd had them with Sam and was having them again now. He snorted. "Or should I forget about the shower?"

_Ass, _Ava thought. "No," she managed after a moment, pushing herself upright again with a grimace, determined not to appear like one of those females who tried to use guilt to lessen a man's anger. "I'm fine."

He ran his fingertips lightly down her bare arms, searching her face, the animosity gone from his. When she didn't say anything else, he sighed and turned back around, his expression becoming guarded again.

After, she caught her breath and watched him step out of his boxers and into the shower. His trimness, the taut fitness of his muscles was enviable at this stage in her pregnancy. She wrapped her suddenly goose bump-covered arms around her belly and watched him until the hot water had steamed the glass doors to a point of opaqueness, then she shuffled off to wake Sam.

**-O-**

Carter lingered in the cracker-jack-box bedroom until the retching sounds had died down in the adjoining bathroom and he heard the toilet flush. Then he stood from his perch on the side of the bed, head still pounding from the day before, and went to prop himself in the threshold.

The bathroom was a cramped space; the toilet wedged in next to the shower/tub combo, a pedestal sink beside it, the medicine cabinet above crammed with all their jumbled toiletries. Mia stood with one hand braced on the edge of the sink, the other holding a cool, wet cloth to her forehead. Her nightgown was the thinnest layer of translucent cotton and clung to her otherwise naked, perspiration dampened body.

"You okay?" he asked, knowing it was a stupid question, but thinking it was husbandly of him to ask anyway.

She turned and propped her hip against the sink, still clenching the basin for support, and lifted the washcloth high enough so she could look at him with heavy-lidded eyes. As he watched, her expression went from one of blank, nauseas indifference to one that was almost desperate. Her face crumpled. "Your eye looks even worse this morning."

Self-consciously, he reached up and touched his damaged eye socket, the flesh tender under his fingers. He didn't have to check the mirror to know it was a dozen shades of purple. "It's fine."

Mia swallowed and he saw the muscles in her slim throat roll. "Someone broke a bone in your face," she said slowly, voice tight. "That's not fine, Carter."

She'd been terrified the night before when he'd come home to their tiny, shitty apartment, wounded and with no explanation to offer. She'd pressed him, in that quiet way of hers, for the details until she'd become nearly hysterical, her voice shrill, so agitated she'd had the dry heaves. The black eye she could have dealt with, but his closed-mouth response had been what scared her. He'd realized too late that he should have told her he'd been boxing with one of the guys, something she'd accept, instead of being vague.

He hated remembering that he'd snapped at her. "Shut up," he'd said finally, silencing her.

"I'm sorry for last night," he offered.

But Mia didn't smile and come into his arms like she had the first few times he'd had to apologize to her. Now she seemed wary, turning back to face the mirror again. Her free hand moved to her flat stomach. "Yeah," she breathed. "Me too."

**-O-**

Because there wasn't much grub at the clubhouse, and because he was being cheap, Koz stopped by the Telfords' for breakfast, only to learn that Mags was on her way to the office, but that Chibs was going to the Ortizs' to eat, so he followed him there.

Something was seriously off with Little Bit and Idiot.

Ava was at the stove, trying not to burn their eggs, still looking huge, Koz noted, though the robe she wore over her leggings and t-shirt disguised her stomach from behind. Juice attacked his toast and bacon like he was mad at it. The kitchen crackled with tension. Koz had seen the couple at their sweet and mushiest, and at each other's throats: both were tiresome. But this morning, there was no fight in Ava. She looked tired, drawn, pale, dark circles beneath her eyes giving her a haunted appearance. He didn't like seeing her like that: even if she was inappropriately outspoken at times, he preferred that version of her to this.

"What the hell's the matter with ya?" Chibs finally demanded of Juice. The Scot looked less than threatening with Sam perched in his lap, the almost-two-year-old eating loose Cheerios off the table. The kid was trying to feed the cereal to his grandfather too.

Juice paused, fork suspended in front of his mouth, and leveled a flat look at his father-in-law. "Nothing." And he resumed eating.

Determined not to get involved in what was obviously a lover's spat, Koz didn't speak until Juice had chugged the rest of his coffee and left with a vague promise to see them both later at the clubhouse. "He's in a mood," Koz said, glancing over at the stove.

Ava turned and put her back to the counter, giving them both a guilty look before she stared down at her belly, her wiggling, purple-polished toes giving the impression she'd intended to glance at them, but couldn't. A very distinct, very obvious show of pain flickered across her features, and he might have thought it was emotional if her hand hadn't fluttered to her stomach.

"What's wrong, luv?" Chibs asked.

She shook her head, then lifted it. Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip. Yeah, she still looked huge and misshapen, but she looked small and vulnerable too. "Could you guys just promise me something?"

Koz put his fork down.

"Sure," Chibs said carefully.

"I don't know any details that I shouldn't, but I get the feeling Juice is gonna do something incredibly stupid."

Kos snorted. "When hasn't he?"

She didn't smile. "Please, please don't let him run off and get himself killed. Now when –," her hand went to her stomach again.

It was a possibility none of them wanted to consider: if something happened to Juice, while she was pregnant, it'd be Hap all over again.

"Yeah," he said the same moment Chibs said, "aye."

**-O-**

"What do we know?"

"Word on the gangsta hotline is that the _Bandoleros_'ve been jackin' shit from every-damn-body," Bobby said on an exhale of smoke. The gray plume rolled up toward the light above the redwood table, joining the ominous cloud that already circulated the room.

"Mayans, Niners, Russians," Chibs said. "Chinese. Equal opportunity and all that shit."

Jax nodded. "They're keepin' the merch somewhere, 'cause there's no way they're movin' it that fast." His brothers agreed. "Where are we on that?"

Juice felt all eyes swing in his direction and he was ready, anticipation a tight fist in his stomach as he linked his hands over the table top. "From what I've heard," based on the frantic game of phone tag he'd been playing and the tips from his various contacts, "the best guess is this carwash in Oakland. "My guy -,"

"Vinny?" Jax asked correctly of the skinny tweaker Juice usually paid off in contraband.

"Yeah. Place called Spit-n-Polish. One of those where they hand dry and detail afterward. He says they do a lot of fleet vans, carpet cleaners and shit, and that the cars are real damn slow to come down the line."

"How observant of him," Ope said with a smirk.

Juice shrugged. "He may or may not take a nap in their waiting room every so often."

"But we got no confirmation," Bobby said.

"Check it out," Tig shrugged, obviously volunteering. "Scope it out at night."

"Vinny says they sit on the place at night," which was what worried Juice.

"So, what, hit 'em in broad daylight?" Bobby snorted.

Juice glanced over and saw Jax scratching at his goatee. "You know," the President said slowly, "that'd be bold. Bold is good. Bold sends a message."

"And they won't be expecting it," Chibs sounded like he already approved.

"We gotta be smart, though," Jax said.

There were nods all around and for the next hour, they added smoke and theories to the sacred room. Twice, Juice glanced over and caught Kozik's eye: just a look told him that he had the Tacoma sergeant's unwavering support on this one.

**-O-**

Ava was feeling no better by the time she shuffled across the threshold of the T-M office door, Sam tottering beside her, his little hand in hers. She had to tilt to the side in order to keep their limbs connected, but she was too uncomfortable and weak to carry him.

"They're in the chapel," Gemma greeted from one of the extra chairs situated across the desk from Maggie. The former queen was resplendent, as always, in black denim, over-the-knee boots and a fitted, rhinestone-studded tunic with long sleeves and a plunging neckline.

"'Kay," she plopped into the other chair.

Free, Sam went to Gemma, who picked him up and settled him in her lap.

Maggie frowned and pushed her reading glasses up on her forehead. "You feel okay, baby?" her hazel eyes roved over Ava's beached-whale appearance.

"MmHm," she closed her eyes and sagged deep in the chair.

"Braxton Hicks?" her mother guessed.

Ava nodded, but as the day had worn on, she wasn't so sure anymore. She wasn't in labor, but she didn't think the sensations rolling through her body were to be taken lightly either.

Out in the parking lot, the sound of a car pulling up to the office cut the relative quiet of the compound. Gemma made a disapproving sound in the back of her throat. "That one," she said, and Ava rolled her head to the side, eyes cracking so she could see Mia climbing from her parked car, "is gonna bolt. You wait and see."

There was a frown to Maggie's voice when she spoke. "She's sweet. Loves Carter. And she's pregnant."

"She married Carter after a week," Gemma scoffed. "And a baby's only gonna scare her into bolting even faster."

"I hope not," Ava said as she closed her eyes again. "I like her."

A distinct hush fell, signaling that Mia had entered the office. "Hi, sweetie," Maggie greeted Carter's wife.

Gem said nothing.

Ava lifted a hand.

"Hi," Mia had one of those voices that seemed like it should have been louder. Ava had a feeling that, the more comfortable she became around all of them, the less timid she would seem. Until then, she was politely subservient to the queen, princesses and duchesses of SAMCRO.

Tara pulled up a few minutes later, then Lyla, kids in tow, and the office became crowded. A random passerby, Ava thought with an inward smile, would have thought they were all pathetic, enslaved women waiting on their men. When really, they were holding a court of their own.

**-O-**

When church let out, Koz scanned the handful of females waiting in the common room and was glad to see a pregnant girl on one of the leather sofas. Ava had her elbows resting on that big stomach of hers, eyes closed, fingertips pressed against her temples, brow crimped up like she was concentrating really hard…or maybe was in pain. Beside her, Maggie was sitting sideways on the couch, arm propped on the back of it, watching her daughter with obvious concern. Her eyes flicked covertly toward him as he approached the two of them.

"Hey, 'Bit, can you do me a favor?"

Her eyes opened. "Does it involve me having to move from this spot?"

"Um, yeah."

She closed her eyes again. "Then I'm gonna have to say 'no'."

"She doesn't feel good," Maggie said, and Koz glanced over to see her worrying her wedding band around her finger with her thumb. Her look spoke volumes: Ava didn't just have a sore throat, and suddenly, Koz felt that weird twinge in his stomach like he had the first time he'd seen how pregnant she was on the day he'd arrived.

"She's not…" he started to ask, but Ava lowered her hands and spread them over her belly. The corners of her mouth were drawn back with discomfort.

"What's this favor?" she asked.

"Baby," Mags put a hand on her daughter's arm, " we need to get you to the hospital."

Koz felt his discomfort ratchet up another notch. "I want you to go home and let me worry about your idiot like I told you to."

She shook her head and then grimaced. "I need to talk to him."

"Koz, go get him," Maggie said. "They can 'talk' at the hospital."

"Is she…?"

"Yes!"

"I'm not to the pushing stage yet," Ava clarified. "My water hasn't broken yet." And then, to his horror, she leaned forward, wrapped her arms around her stomach and whimpered.

He'd seen a lot of shit in his life: nasty, brutal, soul-darkening shit that no man should ever have to see. Hell, he'd done some of that shit. But suddenly, the idea of Little Bit pushing a human out of her…and possibly on the clubhouse couch…left him queasy. "Juice! Your Old Lady's 'bout to blow, man!"

He twisted around and saw the Redwood intelligence officer frozen between the double doors of the chapel, brows fused together like he was trying to decipher the meaning of the "about to blow" statement. But when Koz stepped aside so he could see past him to Ava sitting on the couch, doubled over as best she could with her beach ball stomach, all the frustration and tension he'd been harboring that day drained from his features.

Koz snorted with perturbed approval as Juice went to his wife.

**-O-**

Juice drove like a madman. They took Maggie's CTS and he pushed every speed limit, tested every one of the Cadillac's claims to power and performance. It was nothing like the last time he'd rushed to the hospital, the swirling vortex of emotion and anxiety so vastly different from what he'd felt when Sam had been born. Under the panic and hurry, his lingering anger of their argument, stress and worry, was something he had to label as joy: his kid was about to come into the world.

Her water broke on the way to the hospital.

Her teeth were gritted against the pain, her body shuddering as he left the car in the loading zone and walked beside her, helpless, into St. Thomas. Maggie's offer to park the car went unheard.

By the time she'd been wheeled to a room, the doc had been paged, the paperwork had been signed and he'd worked himself into a lather, Doctor Landry arrived and said it was too late for an epidural: like it or not, she was doing this without drugs.

And it was time to start pushing.

With her hair streaming around her on the pillow, her brows fused together in an expression of extreme concentration and pain, her whole body shaking, Ava had not one tear on her cheek. Juice was not ready for this – felt his breath hitch when he thought about how much her body was hurting, how hard this was going to be – he hadn't been here the last time, in the room, and hadn't been tortured by the sight of her like this. But seeing his quick-to-cry girl dry-eyed soothed the jangled nerves he had no right to have.

"Sir," a nurse pushed Ava's leg up and motioned toward the other. "If you could hold your wife's leg."

Numbly, he looped an arm under her bent knee and did as told, taking her heel in his palm as if he were a human stirrup, helping hold his wife in a pose that usually only he was privy to. Ownership and jealousy didn't matter as much to him in this moment, though, and he leaned over her curled body, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.

Ava grabbed at his free hand with both of hers and he laced his fingers through hers. "Please," she whispered in a strained voice. "Don't look. Please don't look down there. Juice, I -,"

"I won't," he promised, a lump forming in his throat.

"Okay," Dr. Landry said from down at the "receiving" end. "You ready, Ava? We're gonna do this on the next contraction. You're gonna bear down hard…"

Holding her leg and her hand, Juice put his face down close to hers, told her how much he loved her, how amazing she was.

Ava didn't cry, but she screamed.

**-O-**

Janine had scuttled into the shop, moving slow – but at least moving – and without the aid of crutches. Had disappeared into her husband's office and shut the door with a bit of force. Tacoma's leading lady had looked slightly miffed upon arrival and Cassie was sincerely praying it wasn't bad news from Janine's orthopedist. What was sold to her as _helpin' out here and there over at the shop_ had turned into a second full-time job for the last six weeks.

Cass stared down at her hands that were badly in need of a manicure. She'd passed on that salon service after suffering the embarrassment of actually falling asleep in the pedicure chair. Her cheeks burned now, even at the memory of it. She'd startled awake, practically choked on her drool, and although Su-Lin's quick reflexes had helped the nail tech avoid a kick to the face, Cass had still managed to knock the polish jar out of the startled Asian woman's hand, sending splatters of OPI Charged Up Cherry across the normally serene spa.

In the chair to her left, her friend and co-worker Sonia had hid behind an outdated copy of _Cosmo_. Cass was busy apologizing profusely and darting about the salon with her jeans rolled up to her knees and one foot half-painted, the other devoid of polish – having been extracted quickly from the soaking tub – and leaving a trail of wet prints across the tiles. The spa workers twittered about a mile-a-minute in a language Cass couldn't understand and she was pretty sure she really didn't want to know what was being said about her. The matronly owner had finally stepped into the melee and corralled Cass back into her seat with a firm, "you sit! Get finished. No leaving three toes done out of ten. We have reputation. Hmph!"

Cass had been too startled, too mortified to argue. At the terse commands issued in her native tongue, Su-Lin had settled on her little low stool and finished the pedicure. Cass had stayed ramrod straight in the chair, barely breathing, conscious of the quick actions of the other staff cleaning up the mess that looked like blood splatter against the tranquil green and blue hues of the room's decor.

After begging out of the rest of her scheduled treatment, much to the thinly-veiled appreciation of Su-Lin, and leaving a whopper of a tip in her wake, Cass had gone to hide in her car, waiting for Sonia. When the woman did slide into the passenger seat of the Maxima, she smirked and shook her head. "That was absolutely fabulous, babe. Really! I'm pretty sure they will embellish that and turn it into Spa legend, not that any of us could understand it. I used to just think they were poking fun at who has the ugliest feet and who got caught getting off with the help of the massage function...but _you_, sweetheart, have given them something lively. How was your little nap?"

"Cass!"

Cassie jolted, again. "Seventy-nine-ninety-five plus tax," she sputtered. She blinked, realized that, in reflecting on a nap, she'd taken another one, and found both Glen and Janine staring at her, concerned and amused, respectively. Embarrassment brought a hot flush to her cheeks. "Sorry. I, um... never mind. What were you saying?"

"Doctor cleared me to return to work starting tomorrow," Janine said. "I was asking if you wanted to grab some lunch with me as a 'thank you' for helpin' out. Gotta hit up American Greetings, too."

Cass shook her head. "It's just me here this afternoon. Stacy called, McKenzie's sick." She shuddered, again, at the crazy name the red-headed flake had saddled her son with: McKenzie Bergan. Koz had been right when he'd said, upon reading the birth announcement, "that kid better learn to run, _fast_! And get comfortable with his fists, cause with a name like that, he ain't ever gonna get laid." Hearing Koz in her head - even being a smartass – sent a shot of yearning through her body. She checked the loneliness before it could take root in her chest and shrugged. "Kid's got an ear ache or something."

Glen nodded. "I got it covered. Besides you'd be doin' me a favor, keepin' her in line at the card store."

Cass's eyes darted from husband to wife. Janine smirked, her eyes narrowed as she regarded her Old Man. "Whatever I'd write would only be the truth." She cocked her head, gaze landing on Cass. "Let's let Cass be the judge."

_Oh please, let's not! _

"Of?"

"Glen's nephew, Travis, is turnin' eighteen. Well, six months ago, he defaulted on the car loan he'd snookered my Old Man here into co-signin' for him." Neenie rolled her eyes and continued. "So... twenty-five-hundred bucks later, he's driving around in a truck _we_ paid for... and his generous uncle, my darlin' hubby, wants to send the little shit a card and monetary gift."

Janine pursed her lips. Her hands clenched her hip bones, fingers turning white. Cass had no doubt the woman would have been tapping her toe if her foot wasn't in an air cast. A few beats passed in which Cass had no desire to chime in. Janine broke the silence. "Now I have _no_ problem sending a card, cause god forbid he take that as us merely forgettin'. Oh, no! That would _never_ do. But I'll be damned if we will send him a dime."

Glen shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "She wants to send a card and write in it:_ Happy Birthday, now you only owe us $2200 dollars_."

"Deadbeat Nephew!" Janine added, amending Glen's recital of her intended greeting. "Don't forget _deadbeat_!"

"_Now you're messin' with a…a sonofabitch... now you're messin' with a sonofabitch."_

_Koz, oh, bless you're intuitive timing!_ Cass thought as she reached for her blaring phone. "I have to take this." She snatched up her cell phone and stepped out of the office. "Hey, baby!"

**-O-**

"Finally someone I _want_ to talk to," was what greeted Kozik after his old lady answered her cell phone. He heard her sigh. "How are things down South?"

Knowing full well she was referring to his current locale, about eight-hundred miles south of home, but _never_ one to pass up an opportunity at being a smart-ass, he replied with a comment about the state of his dick and balls. Her laugh warmed his heart and, in a manner of speaking, reached down and grabbed him firmly by the family jewels. "I'm awful? I was just answering _your_ suggestive question, sweetheart." He grinned. "Things are…good." He rocked back onto the heels of his boots, glanced skyward, almost as if he were trying to buy into the BS he was hocking. "Lil' Bit popped her bun out late last night."

He heard her intake of breath followed by the whisper of a swiftly closing door. The whine of mechanical equipment in the background faded. She was at Devine's. In anticipation of the inquiries she was going to make, he dug out a little slip of paper containing pertinent details regarding the newest addition to the _familia Ortiz_, proud of himself for being prepared with answers. "Yeah, Mama and son are doing great. Haven't seen them yet but Mags ain't one to blow sunshine. Chibs says the kid looks like he was carved outta Juice's ass."

"Oh my god, that's awful, Zeke!"

"Well, it sounds classier when he says it, says _arse_! The accent may help too," he chuckled. "So that's all the Charming News fit to print. What's goin' on with you? The kid?"

He swore he heard her smile. "Somehow he managed to get a B on his Indian report."

Something in her delivery had him asking, "he worked hard on that thing, why's he lucky to get a B?"

"You really want to know?"

Koz was standing on Chibs and Maggie's back deck, smoking, and prior to calling his girl, he and the Scot had been Sam-sitting. In light of the shit the club was about to dive into, he didn't mind the innocent afternoon so much. And he really did want to hear about Luc's report – God help him for having become this man who cared about shit like that – but he told her so.

"The report content was excellent, _we_ did work hard. I made him write it over five times until all the words were legibly written. He met the illustration requirements; his rendition of Little Big Horn looked like cowboys versus feathered aliens. You were apparently his inspiration for Custer, cause you both have yellow hair. Not at all bad for a first grader. However, he ad-libbed an introduction before reading his report to the class wherein he informed everyone that his report was about Indians, the kind that now own casinos, not the kind that answer eight-hundred numbers."

He had to ask her to repeat the last of what she'd said, because her words had been lost amid his laughter.

"I said, when the principal, the guidance counselor and the school psychologist asked him where he'd ever learned such racist things, he refused to comment, held up five fingers and advised them he didn't have to answer cause '_five_ will save his _ass_'." She groaned. "My six-year-old is pleading the fifth."

She didn't sound pissed, he was glad to hear, but he knew exactly who Luc had been listening to. The next time he saw his best friend, he was going kick RJ's ass. Or at least make a half-hearted threat to do so. "I'm surprised you're still answering my calls."

"I'm not that easily put off; take more than corrupting my kid to make me walk."

"Like…?"

She snickered on the other end. "Oh no, Kozik! Figure it out yourself. I'm not handing you a road map and highlighting a list of deal-breakers."

"Nah, I'm just wondering what to avoid doing, you know, so you _do_ stick around."

"Keep on exactly as you have, baby, you're doin' fine. Besides, you might want to stick around for the show. See, I've heard that kids are a dose of your own medicine, and grandkids are a parent's recompense, so Lucas's life should be real interesting in twenty-five years or so... popcorn, beer and a front row seat?"

The conversation breathed and it was a warm and homey pause, not cold and empty. At the end of it, she spoke first. "You'll let Ava know I'm so happy for her and Juice? I'll send flowers to their house, she'll probably get a bunch at the hospital and I don't want to add to the stuff they have to lug back home. I'll wait."

A smile formed on Koz's lips. "Yeah, I'll let 'em know. How have _you_ been?"

Her sigh and her soft spoken, "I've missed you," were threads that closed the distance between them, drew him home. "Have you missed me?"

Involuntarily, he made some sound of affirmation, her throaty laugh giving another tug at his balls. "Say you've missed me, Koz."

He chuckled. "Thought you weren't gonna give hints and directions."

In a voice that sounded like sex, Cass advised, "I'll tell you what I like, what I want." Koz shifted from foot to foot. _Damn._ "What I won't do is give you a lesson in how-to-break-my-heart. Fair?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. So besides missing me...?"

She sighed again: sweet, sweet torture. "Let's see... I've tested five new recipes. Luc didn't care for them, but Mayday had no complaints and Glen and Janine enjoyed them. Neenie's foot is healing, got the green light to come back to work on Monday."

"Do I detect the need for a Praise Jesus on the end ?"

She laughed. "It's assumed. I enjoy hanging out with the guys, they are fun and always respectful," Koz rolled his eyes, knowing for a fact that fear of his boot up their asses was one of the main reasons they were minding Ps and Qs, " and even a majority of the customers are okay, sorta. The rest... Jesus Christ, I constantly have to look out for creepy people – I've coined a new word: creeple – who make crazy phone calls and who want to smell me."

Koz had been enjoying listening to her voice, it reminded him of home, but he had been paying attention too. "Huh?"

When she sighed again, it didn't' have the same effect as before - this time it amped up another emotion which he checked in order to listen. "I was working yesterday and one of our customers was talking to Leon when I passed by them to go into the shop and give a work order to Joe. On my way back from the service area, that same guy stopped me, and in his creepiest voice leaned over and said, 'You smell purty.' I'm thinking, 'okay', but I am completely horrified. I thanked him and went and hid in the shop until he left. Then, the same fucker calls later and I answer the phone, and he goes, 'Are you that girl who smells good'?"

Koz heard himself grumble.

"And before you ask, yes! Glen is aware. One guy pissed him off to the point he barred him from the premises – for life! Reminded me of the Soup Nazi episode of _Seinfeld_... 'no soup for you!'"

There was silence on both ends of the line.

"Come on, Zeke, laugh, you know you love that episode."

"What the asshole do?"

"Came up to me and actually said, 'what's a girl like you doing in a place like this? You'd make more money dancing at The Oh Zone.' Then he got mad and told me that I was rude and that he didn't want to do business with the likes of _me_. So, I directed him to Glen, who he then told that I was rude to him and it might prevent him from coming back to do business at Devine's. When asked what I said, he said I called him an asshole. After which I chimed in that he said I should be a stripper, Glen told him that he didn't have to stop doing business with Devine's, he needed to get the fuck out and never come back." She attempted a laugh. "See, you don't have a thing to worry about, baby. I'm in good hands," she paused, "but I miss yours." His blood started to feel hot again. "How much longer?"

**-O-**

"I hate the word _perfect_ because nothing ever is…perfect, that is." Ava's eyes tracked her son's tiny, blue-capped head where it rested in the crook of her husband's elbow as Juice paced slowly around her hospital room. She wanted to go back in time to this moment, this morning after Sam's birth, and shake the hell out of herself, but she'd robbed herself out of this enjoyment. This peace and contentment, this overwhelming, warm sense of joy that pushed out all her physical aches and pains and left her glowing. But maybe that hadn't been her fault – at least, not entirely. It certainly hadn't been Juice's. Maybe it had been no one's fault. But it made her love this moment, left her eyes moving over each line, each shadow, creating an Etch-a-Sketch picture in her mind that she could carry around with her forever. Because watching her man and their boy, this was…

"But that's all I can say," she finished wistfully. "He's perfect."

"I thought he had my big ears," Juice said, his smile still the megawatt beam of a proud new father.

"Your nose too." Even though his features were soft like those of all newborns.

His head came up and their eyes met: both sets brown, tired, and dancing. Ava smiled. "Still perfect."

They were alone for the moment: Chibs at home watching Sam with "Uncle" Koz – what she wouldn't have given to be a fly on that wall – and Mags had finally let herself be talked into going there herself for a nap and a shower. Tara was on her shift and had said something about popping in to see them. The guys had come, gone, sent flowers, and talked about coming back. There was a bouquet of a dozen pink roses on the table beside her along with a vase of white lilies: her two favorite types of flowers. Both from Juice. As was the florist's note that read _I'm an ass and I love you and I can't believe you gave me a son_.

"I still can't believe you named him this," Juice teased as he came to sit on the edge of the bed, still rocking Race gently in his arms.

"I told you I was going to," she said. "You just didn't wanna believe me."

The nurses had hidden smiles behind clipboards when she'd told them that Race's real, full name was Jean Cortez Filip. Somewhere in the back of her head, she'd always known that was the kind of name that got a kid beat up on the playground, but she'd wanted so badly to honor her man and her dad, so she'd tried to make up for it with the nickname.

As she watched Juice adjust Race's little blue blanket, a lump rose in her throat. "Juice," he turned to her, his eyes big and soft and no longer holding a trace of yesterday's animosity. "About the money -,"

He cut her off with a shake of his head. "Don't even worry about it, babe."

"I haven't been so distracted I haven't noticed there's something up with you guys," she pressed on. "And I…" she took a deep breath and glanced down at her hands, at the bracelet around her wrist, "and I know that if it's club stuff, then…well," she met his eyes again, "but if this is for us," her tone became pleading, "baby, I don't need a new house or anything a lotto ticket could buy, okay?" She reached forward and stroked Race's stocking-covered head, no longer trusting her voice.

"I know," Juice said.

She swallowed hard. "Please be careful?"

"Always."

**-O-**

"Alright, lads," Jinx said from behind the wheel of the club's black van. "You all set back there?" He twisted around in the seat to survey the cargo area. "Juicy, you cover up your ink? That lightning bolt shit o' yours is like Harry Potter to the tenth degree, brother."

"Yeah," Juice tugged down the edges of his stocking cap again just to be sure and settled against the hard metal side of the van again. As the vehicle rolled forward in the line, his stomach tightened with anxiety.

From the front seat, the walkie-talkie crackled. _"What the hell's the hold up?"_ RJ's voice sounded far away though he was driving the van behind them.

"Pull your knickers outta your crack," Jinx replied brightly as he thumbed the switch on his walkie. "You just make sure you boys got your shit together."

"_Yeah,"_ RJ said. _"We're good to go."_

Across from Juice, in the back of the van, Opie racked the slide on his .45. The big, bearded man wore his usual beanie, and like the rest of them, was in jeans and a plain black sweatshirt. "This could get ugly," he warned.

Juice had been thinking the same thing.

**-O-**

"Can you see 'em?" Jax scanned the street in front of them through the windshield of his Dodge Ram, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips as he dug for a lighter.

"Yeah," Tig had binoculars to his face and watched the Spit-n-Polish car wash through them from the vantage point a few blocks down. "They're next in line."

Jax pushed open the rear window and spoke to Carter who was crouched in the bed, waiting. "Be ready. When the shit goes down, they're gonna need to get out _fast_."

Sometimes, it was strange to see the former football star preppy-turned-outlaw with such a hard look on his face, but the president was glad for it.

**-O-**

"She did _what_?"

"Yeah, man," Jorge Ramirez said with a chuckle as he watched the nose of a black work van enter the tunnel of spraying suds and whirling chamois via the big window through which they monitored the cars. "_Punta_ had it bad. Shoulda seen the way she was -," the second van had the words _Minute Man Printing_ painted on the side. "Yo, ain't it early for the fleet to get back?"

"Dunno," his friend said. "Hey, Hector! When the guys gettin' back?"

Jorge didn't hear the response because he was busy watching the first van, the one without lettering. The one he didn't recognize. In fact, he didn't recognize either of them…

Red lights flared in the dim tunnel as the driver of the first van hit the brakes. And then the thing must have been slammed into park because the tires stopped rotating and tracks that pushed the cars through began to groan in protest.

"Hey, guys!" he yelled.

The rear doors of both vans came open simultaneously and men in dark clothes and ski caps leapt out into the tunnel.

"God_damn_ it!"

**-O-**

"Ah, Christ! Hot wax!" Juice heard Jinx yell – maybe the only time that phrase had been used as a curse – and then he didn't hear much of anything. It was raining from all directions, water and soap choking up the air. Between the manufactured precipitation and the darkness of the tunnel, he couldn't see well, and the spinning brushes and swaying chamois drowned out more delicate sounds.

But Juice saw men coming out of the office into the tunnel and he raced toward them – against every self-preserving instinct – alongside his brothers. With a great mechanical sigh, the assembly line halted, but the brushes continued to buff dead air. There was only one possible place where the guns could be stored, and it was somewhere in the office.

**-O-**

_Discretion _had been the buzz word during all the prepping of this plan, so when Koz raised his Smith & Wesson, he did not shoot the Hispanic guy who was running toward him in the tunnel. Instead, despite the chaos of flying water and soap around him, he trained the muzzle on the guy's chest and bellowed, "_freeze_!" the same moment his brothers did. With all of them out of the vans, the odds were six-to-three.

Chibs and RJ put sights on the other two. "Get the guns," Chibs said.

The other three Sons had just ducked into the office when Koz heard the ringing blast of a single, almost-deafening shot.

"Go," the VP told him, and since the three assholes in the tunnel had their hands up and didn't look armed, Koz went.

There was a fourth _Bandolero_ in the office, a shotgun pressed to his shoulder, a hole smoldering the sheetrock to the right of Jinx's pale, shocked face. Ope and Juice both had guns on the guy and the four of them were locked in a standoff with a hair trigger: once twitch and they were only going to get shot up.

Koz edged into the room, adding his firepower to the equation, and moved sideways toward the Hispanic gangster. The guy's dark eyes rolled to the side, the whites enlarged. The expression that flickered across his face signaled he knew he'd been beat. When Koz extended a hand, the shotgun was put into it.

"Let's go," he heard Opie's deep voice break the silence.

Koz spared the quickest of glances and saw both Redwood members moving toward the closed door on the far end of the room. Juice, he noticed, did not share Opie's impassive focus. Instead, his eyes were big as furious saucers, his brows knitted together – he was the only person Koz knew whose eyes got bigger when he was enraged – he went toward the now unarmed _Bandolero_ instead of the door.

The first punch was a given, even the second, but the kick to the guy's ribs was overkill considering their time window.

"C'mon," Opie grabbed Juice's arm and towed him to the door, and by that time, Jinx seemed to have gotten over his shock and joined them.

"They in there?" Koz asked.

"Yup."

Koz smirked. "Couldn't unload 'em fast enough?"

The man on the floor at his feet curled his lip in disgust. "You don't know shit."

"I know you guys are gonna look like punk bitches when your boss gets back." But the thug on the floor did not look intimidated. Ashamed maybe, furious and embarrassed, but prone and defenseless as he was, he still had a cocksure expression that made Koz uneasy. "Hey, guys," he called. "Let's hurry it up."

Juice and Ope emerged with a crate held between them. "There's another," Ope said, "gotta make two trips."

"And," Jinx came out with a black duffel bag slung over one shoulder. "I think I found somethin' that belongs to your One-Niner chums."

"Laroy's missing H," Koz confirmed. "He'll be a happy man."

"We gotta go," RJ stuck his head in the office door. "Bobby called, said we've got company coming in T-minus _right the fuck now_."

No time for two trips. New plan. "Jinxy," Koz motioned toward the storeroom, "help me grab the other crate."

The shotgun was set up on top of the box of guns between them and they shuffled it out toward the van.

"Move, move!" Chibs was roaring at the top of his lungs, ushering them to the back of the van.

In a frenzied rush, the cargo was loaded amid the maelstrom of flying car wash solution. Koz was pulling the door shut behind him when he remembered that the line had been stopped and that without turning it back on, they'd be trapped when backup arrived. "Shit," he muttered, climbing back out of the van.

"Where you goin'?" RJ demanded.

He didn't answer, instead ducked under the flailing, soapy chamois and ran through the puddled tunnel toward glowing green button on the wall.

Two steps away he saw one of the _Bandoleros_ – they probably should have tied and gagged those fuckers – heading toward him and he lunged for the button.

His palm slapped it the same moment a shot rang out through the concrete chamber.

_Shit!_

Obviously, they'd had another gun.

The second shot whined past his ear – he swore he felt it kiss his skin – and then he was rolling into the van and the door was slammed.

**-O-**

"_That's not fine, Carter,"_ Mia had said, and in some part of his brain, Carter was examining his own life with a detached amazement as he thought about where he was and what he was doing. He remembered the sound of a roaring crowd, the feel of springy turf under his cleets, the rush of adrenaline when he'd completed the perfect pass. He'd had dreams then, a promising future, a horizon as boundless as the sky above it.

And now he gripped the bedrail of Jax's truck and watched his brothers come screeching around the corner in vans loaded with automatic weapons they'd just stolen back from a rival gang.

_No, baby_, he thought wistfully, _it's not fine_. But then he put any such thoughts out of his head because this was his life now and he wasn't going to look at the horizon anymore.

**-O-**

Over the years, Koz had learned that adrenaline didn't just burn off, didn't bleed out of his system. The energy that had flooded his veins as they'd peeled out of the carwash, victory in hand, guns in the back, was still with him. So was the knowledge that only by the grace of hurried, bad aim and commercial grade soap bubbles fucking with trajectory, had he merely lost only a small notch of ear flesh and not his life. Only now, excitement was tempered by the whiskey he'd thrown down, and frustration was building as he surveyed the smoky, dark-as-night interior of the clubhouse. The best medicine for his current state was a drink and a fuck…and he'd already had the Jack Daniels.

Juice came shuffling out into the common room from the back hall, in clean clothes, shrugging into a sweatshirt.

"You stickin' around?" Koz asked him as he passed the bar.

He shook his tattooed head. "Nah. Gonna head up to the hospital for the night." He twitched a smile. "Before Ava crawls out of her bed and comes looking for my ass."

"Good boy," Kozik told him, and poured himself another shot as the intelligence officer left. Alone again – because Bobby was ensconced in the corner with a crow eater – his mind wandered, all the way up to Tacoma. The kid would be in bed already and Cass would be headed that way. He could see her in her silk robe, her skin warm and rosy from the bath, tendrils of dark, damp hair curling at the nape of her neck where they'd escaped her clip. Her green eyes would be warm and full of gold flecks, her lips curved in the most inviting of smiles as he walked across the threshold…

"Hey, doll," an unfamiliar voice sounded beside him. The next stool scraped across the hardwood and a feminine body seated itself beside him.

Cass was fourteen hours away, but his libido was loud and insistent tonight.

The sweetbutt he turned toward was bottle blonde with a harsh, lined face that had been pretty once, but was tired now. Still, her smile was devious and the invitation in her eyes unmistakable. She was not toned and tight like his Old Lady – she was wrapped in red leather and cheap satin, her breasts a feat of medical science that were disproportionately huge compared to her thin frame. But she was _here._ And when her nails ran up his arm, he found himself responding to her greeting.

In the dorm room, his back against the door, she unraveled the knot at the front of her satiny shirt and let the halves of it fall to the side, her huge, fake tits thrusting forward into his palms. She giggled when he took them in his hands, kicked her head back when he pinched her nipples.

Her long-nailed hands pushed up the hem of his shirt and he lifted his arms so she could pull it free. "Ooh," she cooed, running her fingertips over his ribs. "What's this?"

His pulse jumped when she traced the letters of the tattoo on his side.

"'Love Machine'?" she asked with a little laugh, and leaned forward to put her lips over the ink. "Is that what you call your cock?" she whispered, her breath tickling his skin. "I _can't wait_ to find out."

But the dumb bitch had no idea what she'd just touched, just kissed, what the notion of her observing that mark of his had done to his mood. When he growled, she flickered her tongue out over the spot. When he clamped his hands on her shoulders and pushed her roughly back, though, she gasped.

"I -,"

"Shut the fuck up," he snapped, shoving her down, no longer interested in her body save for what it could do for his.

She hit her knees like she was supposed to and when he tangled a hand in her brittle hair, he didn't try to be gentle.

**-O-**

Her breasts were swollen and achy, every muscle in her body still exhausted and limp. Her insides felt hollow and full at the same time, cramps tensing her abdomen intermittently, and had she been beaten to a bloody pulp with a tire iron between her legs it might have felt better than it did now. Ava's body was still so wrecked that she didn't sleep well, even when the nurses took Race to the nursery for the night and the lights had been turned down to a muted glow. Maggie had been reluctant to leave, but someone had to watch Sam. And even in the quiet, Ava had been lulled only partially into sleep, still conscious on some level.

So when a soft weight settled across her shins, her eyes fluttered open and moved about the shadowy hospital room. "Juice?" She straightened up against the pillows as her husband took shape. He had pulled a chair up beside the bed and had his arms folded over her legs, his head resting on them.

"Baby?" she leaned forward, hissing at the way the small motion grabbed at her abused muscles.

"Don't get up," he lifted his head and one hand slid up to her thigh.

She registered the dark, shadowed streak of a cut across the ridge of his cheek. The white scar in his eyebrow seemed brighter than normal. "What time is it?" she asked, throat feeling dry.

"Almost one."

Though her body, protested, she reached up and cupped his cheek in her hand, swept her thumb lightly over his laceration. Her pulse thudded slow and deep behind her breastbone. "Are you okay?"

He twitched a tired smile. "Yeah." He squeezed her thigh. "Which house do you want?"

"What?"

Juice quirked his eyebrows in a repetition of the question.

Ava couldn't decide if she was excited, hesitant, or just dumbfounded. "Forty-six-fifty-three."

**TBC**


	5. Settled

**5. Settled**

Moving day.

Two weeks since Race's birth. Ten sleepless nights at home filled with feedings, changes and the baby's restless cries. An evening of putting together disassembled liquor boxes and filling them with their things. The money wasn't in their account yet, but the house was already in her name. And now it was here: the day when she would move out of the little gray house Hap had bought.

It was the dusky blue of first light that filtered through the blinds when Ava opened sleep-crusted eyes and scanned the room. She'd slept maybe an hour, and now it was almost time to get up, though Race was sleeping soundly is his bassinet beside their bed. She was on her side, her still-tender body stiff and sore, her breasts aching and full of milk. She remembered these sensations all too well from Sam's babyhood, but as she blinked, taking in the hazy, dream-like air of the room around her, everything was different than it had been then.

A lump rose in her throat, but that was as far as her sadness progressed because she saw her husband sitting up on the opposite edge of the bed, his bare back to her, the ink tree barely visible where it grew over his spine. She was struck hard by déjà vu - this was a pose Happy had so often taken - but instead of the curious worry she'd always felt then, a smile touched her lips.

Every muscle protested the move, but Ava sat up with a wince, the bed creaking, and moved on her knees through the sheets until she knelt just behind Juice. His skin was deliciously smooth and cool to the touch when she placed her hands on his shoulders and slid them over his clavicles, down his pecs to come together over his heart. She pressed her sensitive breasts against his back and leaned into him, her tumbled mass of dark hair falling over his shoulder.

She could feel his tired smile when she pressed her cheek to his. One of his hands reached up to lightly cradle the side of her head, his fingers spearing through her hair.

Ava mimicked the gesture so her hand was on the far side of his head, her fingertips pressing over one of his lightning bolts. "I still can't believe it," she mused. "People like us winning the big jackpot…odds of that have to be the same as getting struck by lightning," she tapped at his scalp meaningfully, "twice."

"You gonna be okay today?" Juice asked in a quiet, knowing voice. He wasn't talking about her physical state.

She nodded, throat feeling tight. "Just...please don't take it the wrong way if I...cry."

And even if she shed a hundred tears and couldn't shut out the part of her that grieved Hap's ghost, when Juice urged her around from behind him so he could tuck her beneath his arm, she knew she was making the absolute right choice.

"Hey," she felt his chin against the top of her head. "Happy anniversary."

Ava couldn't stop the chuckle that bubbled up out of her throat. "It's real romantic, huh?"

**-O-**

Ava had reached an age at which she was well aware of her innumerable faults. Some days she had no idea how Juice could love her – even when_ he_ was the one being an ass. She knew she deserved the shit the guys gave her. But she also knew that, among her faults, being lazy was _not_ one of them. So as she rocked a very awake, very fussy Race in her arms on the wide front porch of the sprawling ranch house that was their new home, she hated that her body had betrayed her. She felt nothing but lazy as she directed the boxes and furniture being brought into the house and was forced to watch, unable to lift anything heavier than her infant son and his diaper bag. Sam sat at her feet, playing with a Tonka truck, gazing mutinously up at his new brother every so often.

"That's bedroom stuff," she told Tux as he lugged another box up from the street. "I can show you where it goes if -,"

He cut her off with a grin and a headshake. "Juice said for you to stop comin' in here every five seconds."

She sighed, but nodded, keeping her vigil on the porch.

Last night had been their first night in the new place. Under Maggie's insightful insistence, the master bed and Sam's had been the first items moved and set up. They were living out of boxes and using paper plates because Ava had no idea where her china was, but they'd been able to sleep on their fully-assembled beds.

There were trucks and cars in her drive and along the street. She could hear her mother giving orders inside. And she heaved another sigh at the thought that she was essentially an invalid.

"Hello, there!" a cheerful, female voice called, and Ava turned to see their new neighbors – Jerry and Elise Webb – coming up the sidewalk toward the door.

"Hi," Ava called back.

The couple had not appeared in the least bit put off by the notion of a biker family moving in next door. In fact, they'd made a series of kind overtures, bringing them a lasagna their first night and offering to watch Sam – though Ava hadn't taken them up on it – with seemingly sincere generosity. Elise, amid her happy chatter, had explained that she and Jerry were childless and now that they were in their fifties, they were "thrilled" to see a family with children moving in. Even, apparently, a family whose patriarch had a mohawk, head tats and a Sons' cut.

"You're moving right in, aren't ya?" Elise said as she came up the front steps. She had a flat package wrapped in floral paper in her hands, Ava noticed. "And no wonder since you've got such good help." The woman's gaze was directed toward Tux as he emerged from the house and went back to Jax's truck where Tig was wrangling boxes and cursing at the uncooperative ones.

"My offer still stands," Jerry said, and Ava thought he sounded a bit hurt by their refusal.

"We've got more hands than we need," Ava assured. "Half of them have nothing to do and are standing around chewing the fat, believe me."

"I told him that," Elise said. She extended the package toward Ava. "Here," she beamed.

"For us?" Ava was shocked. "You really didn't have to."

"We wanted to. It's just a little something to say 'welcome to the neighborhood'."

Shifting Race to one arm, she set the package down on the porch rail and peeled the paper off with her free hand. A wooden – what looked to be hand painted – sign stared up at her: a pretty white rectangle with black lettering and intricate green and silver vines painted in a border. It read _Casa Ortiz _in delicate script.

"Wow."

"Do you like it?" Elise sounded worried. "I worried the colors wouldn't be right -,"

Some paranoid part of Ava questioned the wisdom of putting your last name on the front of your house, but she nodded. "It's beautiful."

"Oh, good! I know the woman who paints things and we had the words done in Spanish for your husband."

Ava bit her lip to keep from chuckling. "Uh-huh."

As if he'd sensed she'd been about to laugh at his expense, Juice stepped out onto the porch. He was in his favorite old beat up camo pants and a white tee smudged with paint. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and glanced at their new neighbors. "Hey." Something was still bothering him, Ava knew, but he'd put on a good face for the Webbs.

"Look, baby," she held up the plaque. "Jerry and Elise had this painted for us."

She watched his eyes move over the letters. "Sweet." He grinned. "_Casa Ortiz_. That means….what, house, right?"

Elise blinked. "Don't you -,"

"Nope," Ava said with a smile. "I speak better Spanish than he does."

**-O-**

_Welcome to Charming._

_Thank God! _Cass breathed a sigh of relief as she drove past the town sign. After seven-hundred-and-seventy miles trapped in the car with Luc and his best friend Braxton – who she'd brought along both to keep her son occupied and out of pity for the other little boy who lived with his grandmother, who had suffered a fall and had no one else to watch the kid while she recovered – after fourteen hours of "are we there yet?", three tanks of gas, two extra bathroom stops, meals eaten at mom & pop roadside diners because those tended to be more accommodating to Luc's food allergy, and three renditions of "Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall", she was ready to fling herself out of the vehicle. They had told knock-knock jokes and made every conceivable sound effect from the cute to the disgusting, and had otherwise occupied themselves with hand-held video games the sound of which was rapidly driving her insane. And at last, they were here.

As Koz had cautioned her to do, she checked her speed as the scrub landscape gave way to a quaint row of buildings. Cruising down the Main Street of Charming was, as she'd heard, like traveling fifty years back in time.

"_In two-point-one miles, turn left onto Cedar Lane. You will have reached your destination,"_ the GPS announced in its electronic, feminine voice.

"Hey, boys."

"Hmm?" they asked in unison.

"We're there!"

A loud whoop issued from the backseat. Cassie's face, like the rest of her body, felt stiff and tired, but she smiled anyway as she reached to massage the kink from the back of her neck.

They passed through what must have been the heart of town: glittering glass storefronts and cars parked at the curb. Pedestrians moved up and down the sidewalks. And as predicted, a Charming PD cruiser was sitting in front of the barbershop, its officer leaned back against the trunk, watching the traffic that crawled along.

Within two miles, the shops gave way to modest homes and old, tall trees grew closer together. Cass spotted picket fences and flapping American flags, old rusted-out cars and children too young for school playing in yards. The buildings – from the houses to the churches – were old, their foundations veined with cracks. This was The Town That Time Forgot.

Cedar Lane, she noticed as she turned down it, was lined with sprawling lots topped with big, one-story houses that were generous and inviting without being presumptuous. The street looked like one taken from a pictorial representation of the American Dream; a little weathered and worn in places, with established trees and shaggy shrubs, but welcoming and homey too.

Cass switched off the Tom Tom and didn't bother checking the folded slip of paper in her sun visor. She had seen Mistress – Koz's bike – parked beneath a tree at the curb of a house that had a driveway full of cars and trucks, boxes stacked outside the garage doors. Just seeing her man's bike sent a sudden, desperate relief through her system in a way that left her shuddering. It was one thing to know her trip had come to an end, quite another to know Koz was waiting for her there.

She pulled the Maxima to a halt along the curb across the street from the house, killed the engine and pulled down the sun visor. When she popped the mirror, she braced herself for the sight of her travel-haggard appearance. _Not too bad_, she thought as she gave herself a once over.

The boys, however, made her grimace. "You two clean up," she told them. "Put your games and stuff in their cases. Pick up the Matchbox cars."

They groaned, but complied as she extracted her brush from her purse and pulled it through her hair. Added a fresh application of lip gloss and mascara.

"You look GOR-geous," Luc sighed. "Can we get out now?"

She rolled her eyes, popped the cap on her eye liner. "You got your shoes on?"

"Yes!"

"Alright…._but_, best behavior. I'm not messin' around."

"We know! Jeez!" Then Luc gasped. "_Koz_!"

Cass turned back around and glanced through the windshield to see her favorite blonde approaching with a grin.

"Can we go? Can we go?"

"Yes. Get out!" Cass's laugh was lost on the wind as the back doors flew open and the two first graders scrambled out.

She settled back against the seat and watched as the duo practically tackled the biker. Hugs and greetings of "dude" were exchanged and the scene made her smile. A little bit of warmth seeped back into her body, though in some ways, she hated to admit that to herself. Cass had been beset by an internal chill since Koz's departure nearly a month before.

She watched him glance her way, as if he knew she'd been thinking of him, and look at her questioningly. In answer, she removed the keys from the ignition, tossed them into her purse, grabbed it and slid out of the car. Slinging the hobo bag over her shoulder, she smoothed a hand down her outfit and walked around the front of the car.

Luc and Brax had their heads tipped back on their skinny necks, talking a mile a minute as they regaled the biker with the details of the voyage down from Tacoma. Koz was nodding along and watching her approach. At the prompting of his outstretched arm, stepped up to him, felt his arm drape around her, tug her body to his and she breathed in a deep, rattling breath that was filled with the scent of him. His tall, hard body felt so good pressed to hers and his warmth and strength seemed to travel into her via osmosis.

"Hey, baby," she smiled before he moved in to steal a kiss. "Were you looking out for us?"

"Chibs and me were in the garage." He cracked a grin she'd missed seeing, even though it was committed to memory. "Plus, Charming's so small, I knew the moment you crossed the border."

She smirked. "So, that _was_ Jinx at the gas station we passed."

His chuckle and eye roll confirmed her suspicion. He gave her a squeeze and then tucked her under an arm, steering her toward the house.

"Did you say anything?" she asked just above a whisper as they walked up the drive.

"Nah. Figured I'd be hammered with questions you ought to be answering, decided to wait." The smile he cut toward her dispelled any worry she'd harbored about him regretting the question he'd asked her back in Tacoma. "Besides," he chuckled. "I've got a wager going with RJ about how long it'll take Bit or Mags to notice."

Chibs was in the open garage and based on an assessment of the plastic carnage, Cassie guessed they'd been in the middle of assembling some kind of storage cabinet. The Scot didn't appear perturbed to have two strange little boys bombarding him with questions about the three bikes parked in the spacious, three-car garage.

The Redwood VP glanced up when Cass entered and offered her a scar-framed smile and a booming laugh. "Hey, sweetheart!"

"Hi, Chibs." She accepted his sideways hug.

"You didn't get lost, did ya?"

She twitched a rueful smile. "I think we ended up on the scenic route Koz told me about."

"Mom!" Luc said, all excitement. "Did you see this bike?" The Harley in question had an elaborate, robed reaper airbrushed on the fuel tank.

"Lucas," she put a warning into her voice. "Did you introduce yourself?" When he shook his head, she sighed. "Chibs, my son Lucas. Luc, Ava's dad Chibs."

The Scot chuckled and leaned in toward Koz. "Thought you said she only had one kid, brother."

"Other one's a loaner," Koz said.

"Luc's friend Brax," Cass explained. She pulled a face. "I hope it's okay, I guess I should have called and asked. His…" she dropped her voice "…grandmother took a fall and is recovering and he's a bit much to handle and…"

"Sure it's fine, darlin'," Chibs assured.

"Come on, boys," Koz had this unquestionable authority when it came to the kids: they just listened, no fuss, no questions. "Let's go in for a sec."

Cass felt a sudden flare of nerves as Koz led them to the door that must separate the garage from the rest of the house. She knew Chibs and Juice and Ava, but everyone else was a mystery. And the way Ava had laughingly talked about her mother and the legendary Gemma Teller-Morrow, Cassie wasn't sure what kind of welcome to expect.

The door opened before they reached it and Juice stood in the threshold, looking dirtier and more tired than he had after a week at Sturgis, a dark-headed toddler standing beside him who could only be Sam. Cassie had seen pictures, but the kid looked even bigger than the last set of images she'd been emailed.

"Hey," Juice greeted.

Sam's dark eyes widened in obvious shock at the sight of three strangers crowding at the door and ducked behind Juice's leg, little fingers latching onto his pants leg.

"What's the matter, dude?" he laughed, twisting so he could lay a reassuring hand on top of his son's head. "You shy all of a sudden?" He shrugged. "Don't take it personal – he's weird about strangers." Juice picked the little boy up and settled him on his hip, pushing the door wide with his elbow. "Come on in. The place looks like shit, so don't say you weren't warned."

**-O-**

"He's precious," Cassie said, feeling a pang of maternal sentimentality. Race Ortiz – now awake from the nap he'd been taking when she first arrived – stared up at her with surprising clarity as she held him.

"All the guys say he looks like an alien monkey," Ava said with a sigh. "I won't be offended if you think so too."

Cass chuckled. "Gonna stick with precious."

"He's gonna have his daddy's ears," Ava's mother, Maggie, said from opposite the wide center island in the kitchen. Ava gave her mom a tired look – then again, all of her looks had been tired. "You married those ears, don't act like you think that's a curse or something."

Cass grinned and let her eyes go wandering back to the bundle in her arms. Her nerves had tripled when she'd crossed the threshold into the house. Chibs' wife had been just inside the kitchen, multiple pots steaming on the stove top, and though it was ridiculous – Tacoma's queen bee sang her praises and she'd always striven to be agreeable and non-confrontational in club situations – Cassie had suddenly worried what one of the mother charter's matriarchs would think of her. Maggie had been barefoot, in ratty, tight jeans and a scoop-neck blue t-shirt that flaunted her hot-for-forty-something figure. Her dirty blonde hair was tied up in a messy bun, several wavy strands having escaped, and though Ava had claimed to look more like her dad, when Maggie had turned her hazel eyes toward Cass, she'd been shocked by just how much daughter favored mother.

Holding the baby had dissolved her nerves, but she knew to be careful, to watch where she stepped. She knew high ranking club women were subtle and tactful in their punishments if they deemed you deserving of one…or so the tales from Charming were told in Tacoma.

The guys came trooping back in from the garage – they'd made the storage cabinet a joint effort after Koz brought in the luggage. "Juice, he's beautiful," she said as the mohawked Redwood member pulled a half gallon of chocolate milk from the fridge and proceeded to drink straight from the jug.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I know, right?" His smile was gigantic and radiated pride like he was plugged into an electrical conduit.

Her eyes moved to Koz and she was surprised to find him frowning at her. Standing next to Juice, his expression was the happy father's antithesis: withdrawn and troubled.

"Don't fill up," Maggie stepped between them, breaking the gaze, as she moved to the stove. She aimed her spoon at Juice. "I'm making dinner."

"Do you need help?" Cass volunteered, still shaking off the odd look her man had given her.

"Oh no, you girls go sit down and visit."

"Sure, Mom," Ava rolled her eyes. Cass followed when she nodded toward the doorway that led into the large family room where Luc and Brax were parked in front of the TV, playing a game on whatever expensive, latest and greatest system Juice had hooked up to the big flat screen mounted on the wall.

Ava went to the pyramid of boxes stacked against the wall behind a leather sectional sofa that could have been a dorm room salvage – probably was – and began digging into a box marked PLATES.

"Here, I can help with that," Cass prepared to pass off the baby.

Ava sighed and waved her away. "They haven't let me touch anything. I'm going nuts not knowing where my stuff's getting put."

Cassie could relate: she wasn't sure she could have been able to stand on the sidelines and watch other people put her house together.

"The place looks awful," Ava went on. "The renovations were only partly done and Juice and I decided we'd do the rest ourselves instead of doing it on the club's dime. But our furniture is _terrible_." She chuckled. "I think I'm scaring Juice – he had no idea I gave a shit about furniture. And really, I didn't know I did either."

She straightened, arms full of plates, and quirked a smile. "Such is the life of a child-bride having too many babies too early and trying to live up to the queens."

Cass chuckled. "But you're not stripping."

"Or doing porn." Ava's grin widened. "It could be worse."

"Here," Cass reached to straighten the beanie on Race's little head. "I'll swap you baby for dishes and I'll carry those into the kitchen so your mom doesn't know you unpacked them."

Ava laughed, set the china aside and took her son. "I know we don't have much of a welcome mat to roll out right now, but I'm really glad you came down."

"Me too." She returned the smile, feeling validated in her decision to come. She'd wondered if maybe she'd be more underfoot than helpful, but Ava and her parents had been welcoming, and Sturgis had taught Cass that Ava didn't play fake nice well.

She carried the plates into the kitchen, pausing a moment when she saw that Koz and Juice had gone back out into the garage and that Chibs stood beside his wife at the stove. She wasn't sure what she'd expected the Scot's wife to look like – or be like – but the curvy blonde was somehow his perfect compliment. Like Janine, she took good care of herself, obviously had a sunscreen and moisturizer routine that kept her looking like a pampered wife and not a woman who'd spent her life on the back of a bike. "The men are bikers," Janine had told her once, "but I don't intend to look like one."

Chibs was saying something to Maggie in that guttural accent of his that was hard to understand, and Cass waited until Maggie had smiled in response, stretched up for a kiss and shooed him off before carrying the plates to the sink.

"I was gonna offer to wash these," she said, setting the dishes on the counter. "I'm sure they were clean before they were packed, but -,"

"Newspaper's dirty," Maggie said with a little nod of approval as she moved aside and let Cass roll up her sleeves.

Beneath the harsh, fluorescent tube light above the sink, Cass stuck her hands under the running water and watched the rock on her left hand glimmer. _Shit_, she thought, and quickly turned the ring around so the stone was in her palm. But when she snuck a glance at Maggie, she saw the woman's small smile.

**-O-**

Ava was immensely glad her mother had cooked dinner. Juice ate what she prepared every night, but she didn't want to run off guests their first night in town with shitty cooking. They sat down around the long, plank table they'd found on consignment that was perfect in the big bay window of the breakfast nook. They ate rosemary potatoes, green beans and chicken in deference to Luc's dairy allergy and after the first bite, Ava's stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since breakfast. _Not smart_, she scolded herself.

She waited until she'd taken the edge off her hunger before she attempted to join the conversation, a move that drew a pointed glance from her mother: _eat more!_ "Got news," she said, reaching for her water glass. "Carter and Mia are expecting."

Koz rolled his eyes.

Cassie gasped. "Oh my god, really?"

Ava held Race in the crook of one arm and had Sam beside her in his high chair as he ate cut-up cubes of dinner, but the older kids were across the table with Cassie. "Expecting what?" Luc asked, all innocence.

Chibs started laughing and it spread around the table.

"A baby," Cass said. Ava didn't miss the look the brunette shot Koz – she'd seen the almost choked expression on the Tacoma sergeant's face when his woman had been holding Race – and suddenly Ava wondered if someone else was expecting. She watched as some silent communication passed between the couple and then Cass turned back to her, wincing. "We, um…we have news too."

Ava shot a quick glance to Koz, but he shook his head.

Cassie set down her fork and raised her left hand…her left hand that was sporting a diamond.

Luc and Brax continued to eat, Sam swept his hand across the tray of his high chair and sent half his dinner flying, but everyone else fell silent.

Ava finally managed to pick her jaw back up. "You've been here a _month_ and didn't say anything!" she turned to Koz, then to Cass. "Wait…he _did_ ask you, didn't he?"

"Ava," Maggie scolded.

Juice snorted.

Koz rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I asked."

Cassie put her hand down and laughed. "Yep, right after he threw me out of a perfectly functional airplane."

Juice choked on his beer.

"What?" Ava demanded, not sure she'd heard right.

Cass gave her a wry smile. "You apparently hinted he should do something special for me after surviving a year with him."

Juice had recovered and groaned. "Baby, you didn't."

"What? I meant dinner and a movie. I did not tell him to throw you out of an aircraft!"

Chibs had long since cracked up and the laughter was spreading.

"Yeah, well," Cass shrugged and gave her man an amused look, "he's dangerous when left to his own devices."

Ava was horror-stricken. "Oh, God, please tell me he didn't say 'if you love me, you'll jump outta this plane'."

Koz grinned. "Of course not. She'd never parachuted before, so we dove tandem."

"It was more like, 'if you love me, you'll strap yourself to me and let me throw both of us out of this plane'," Cass said.

"Dear Lord, Kozik," Maggie said.

"Oh, it gets worse. This was after he'd spent the previous hour explaining terminal velocity to me in great detail." She laughed, though, and Ava guessed that was what counted. "It was fun, though, and we survived…obviously."

Ava glanced over and caught Juice watching her with a look she recognized. "Oh no, don't even let that thought in your head," she warned. "This," she pointed to Race, "is your parachute." She turned back to Cass with a sigh. "So, what? He pulls out the ring when you land?"

"No, we got the ring later. But yeah, after he gathered up the 'chute, he asked how I liked it. It was a rush. And oddly, terrifyingly fun. So he asks me if I wanted to do it again every year for the next thirty years or so. How could a girl say 'no' to that?"

"Easy!" Maggie said. "No! You're not tossing my ass out of a plane ever again!" But she laughed, her eyes sliding over toward Koz. She studied him a moment, sobering. "I'm proud of you," she looked to Cass, "and you, brave girl."

Ava knew what her mother meant by "brave", and a glance at Cassie's pink cheeks told her the newest member of the official Old Ladies circle did too: The only thing more frightened than a sky dive was probably living with one of these men. Despite a lifetime around the club, Ava had learned the hard truth – after losing Hap and almost losing Juice – the bravest thing a woman could do had nothing to do with violence, but with loving and supporting her man.

After dinner, her eyelids flagging, Ava sidled up to Koz in the living room and nodded toward Luc and Brax who were unfurling sleeping bags on the living room floor. "Mom's staying the night. We can watch the kids for a while." He gave her a sideways glance and she waggled her brows. "Why don't you go show Cass the window over at the old house?"

**-O-**

The old house looked dark and forlorn when Koz pulled up in front of it and killed his engine. The windows were yawning, empty eyes: no cars in the drive, no lights shining warmly from within. He knew there were still boxes inside – some Ava's and Juice's, some Carter's and Mia's as those two prepared to take up residence as renters. He himself had been the one to suggest the arrangement after Juice had confided that Ava was upset about selling and was bottling it all up in an unhealthy way. She'd have to sell the place eventually, but for now, this was a good, profitable setup.

"It's cute," Cass said from behind him, her breath tickling against his ear. Her arms slid from around him – he thought her hands lingered at his waist – and she unsnapped her helmet.

He swung off the bike and took off his own helmet, waiting while she slid gracefully off the bitch seat and stretched her arms up over her head. The hem of her vintage, printed shirt rode up, flashing a moon-silvered glimpse of midriff. The way her spine arched and her tits squeezed together reminded him that it had been a month since he'd had more than phone sex with her.

"Better than cute," he said with a sideways grin, watching her instead of the house.

When she met his gaze, she grinned and chuckled. "I can't even call you out on that one – missed you too much."

"Good."

He slid an arm around her waist as he led her up the yard to the front door. She felt good tucked into his side; all tall, strong woman, warm skin and hot curves. He hated having to take his hands off her to fit the key in the lock and let them in.

The door opened up into the living room – it was a tiny little house – and the light globes in the ceiling fan painted a harsh light over the small space that was lined with boxes. Carter had moved a couch in, some ungodly plaid thing, but it was the only piece of furniture.

Cass preceded him into the house and as he toed the door shut behind them, he had a chance to really look her over without anyone else around to watch him. When she turned around to face him, her smile mischievous, all thoughts of the octagonal rose window he'd brought her here for vanished.

"What'd you wanna show me?" she asked.

He grinned.

**-O-**

"Oh, I know, I know," Ava's voice was thick with wanted sleep as she tried to shush Race. As he had every night, he'd started squalling the instant she settled him in his bassinet.

Juice turned away from the dresser where he'd been rifling through a duffle of his clothes in search of fresh boxers and watched his Old Lady lay down on the bed and curl up, facing him, cuddling a red-faced, screaming Race to her chest.

Juice leaned back against the dresser and wiped a hand down his face. He was running on fumes and worse, on top of his new home in a cardboard box shambles, worry over _Bandolero_ fallout was eating a hole in his belly. And Race would not stop crying…go figure, Sam was a little soldier, but Juice's own biological kid was an insomniac with separation anxiety.

The kids were different, and their mama was too, in a good way. She opened the buttons of the flannel shirt she was wearing – one of his – and coaxed the anxious baby to latch on. Then her tired, dark-ringed eyes found Juice's and instead of the wariness he'd seen there when she'd been nursing Sam two years ago, he found exhausted sweetness on her face. For all that others saw wrong with her, she had limitless patience when it came to her babies. "I will not raise insecure children," she'd told him fiercely.

"You sure you don't want a refund on this one?" he asked, giving up his search and going to flop down on the bed across from her.

She smiled. "You know, if I was smart…" she swallowed, he watched the muscles in her throat roll, and he knew what she was going to say, because she'd said it right after she'd found out she was pregnant.

She'd come home from the diner with tears in her eyes and he'd had to work all night to get the story out of her: after telling her coworkers that she was expecting, she'd overheard one of the cooks gossiping with another waitress about maybe now she'd be on the lookout for baby daddy number three_. "If I was smart, I would have waited. I don't even have a good job. I didn't have to have a baby now, but, as usual,"_ she'd choked on a hormone-riddled sob, _"I don't do anything the way I'm supposed to."_

"Don't go there," he chided with a sigh.

"I know." She blinked twice and then it was gone, the mood past. She was getting better at that – shaking off guilt, living in the here and now. One hand cradled the baby's head, but she reached out with the other, grabbing for his hand. He linked his fingers through hers. "What's got you stuck in your head?" she asked. "You alright?"

"Club stuff," he said. She squeezed his hand and said nothing. His eyes moved over her face, saw the fatigue in it. "You gotta get some sleep, babe. Doc said your milk would dry up if -,"

"Yeah, I know," she sighed. Then she smiled. "Smokin' hot anniversary we had, baby."

Juice braced a hand beside his newborn son's head on the mattress and leaned forward for a kiss. "_You're_ smokin' hot," he said, already laughing as he did.

His exhausted, pale, pretty, crazy, sweet wife of one year rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up."

**-O-**

Koz leaned his shoulder against the door frame of the cleared-out master bedroom. He stood in his Levis, shirtless and barefooted, watching his woman sleep atop the sleeping bag they'd found bundled in a corner of the living room along with two random top sheets that had been seemingly clean and folded. He hadn't known which couple the bag and linens belonged to, and at that particular point in time, he hadn't really given a flying fuck. He'd been amused as always at her crazy self-consciousness when Cass, while opening up the bag and spreading it down, had mentioned something about maybe later finding an oversized washer and dryer to launder the thing in before returning it.

He'd shrugged. "Don't worry about it. Give 'em twenty bucks and we'll call it even."

She'd shaken her head and smiled. Then she'd lay back down on their field of plaid and reached out for him one more time.

Now, the early morning sun was spilling through the open mini blinds, striping the room with light and picking out all the natural auburn highlights that streaked her mess of dark hair. She lay on her stomach beneath a tangle of sheets, one arm stretched out above her head, her face turned away from window, her breathing slow and steady.

An unconscious smile formed on his lips as he soaked in the sight of her – it was a rare treat to see her at rest – and his latent inner-sap relished the moment. Until he'd had her back beside him, he hadn't realized how accustomed to her presence he'd become. Though he'd never admit it on pain of death, he didn't know which he'd missed more: having sex with this woman or waking up to find her soft body draped across his, her warm curves pressed against him, spitting and pulling out the silky strands of her hair that would always manage to end up in his mouth as they slept.

Cass stirred on their makeshift bed and Koz watched her poke a foot out from under the sheet, the fabric riding up and exposing her leg to mid-thigh. He felt a strong stirring and shifted his weight. Everything about this woman worked for him, and still there was something he couldn't quite name that spoke to something in him. Something that allowed him to justify the consequences of settling down. Something beyond the scent of her skin, the taste of her mouth, the sight of her body and the knowledge of the pleasure he found in it. Koz loved her sense of humor, her sarcastic nature. Just her laugh could elicit his own laugh. He loved her smarts, both book and street, loved her pride and her acceptance of the _love me, love my club_ philosophy that ruled his life. Fuck, he even liked the red nail polish on her toes. He shifted his weight again, fighting the urge to pounce on her for round four.

They'd made love three times the night before. The first within minutes of crossing the threshold - fast and furious and explosive, right there on the Michaels' ugly, plaid sofa. She'd turned from surveying her surroundings, found him watching her. She'd cocked her head, wet her lips, breathed out, "Koz? Baby, I ..." and it had been on; his only thought had been getting inside and reclaiming what was his.

The second time had been after their relocation to the bedroom, slow, yet equally explosive. The last time had been an hour or so before dawn, when he'd awakened to find her staring out the window, counting stars or some shit. He'd tucked her back against him, breathed in the combined scents of her shampoo and lingering perfume. His eyes had popped open when she'd gasped and shifted out of his grasp to sit up and gaze out the window into the darkness. When he'd asked "what?", she'd quickly pointed out a five-star configuration of stars in the formation of a sprawling letter W. He'd yawned, muttering, "don't know that one."

"That," she'd informed, "is the constellation I'm named after. Cassiopeia."

Koz had never been a star buff – he'd been too busy getting laid in high school to bust out a telescope. He knew the biggies, both dippers and Orion, but that was about it, so he'd taken her word for it.

"She was cursed and so she's chained upside down on her throne and has to circle the heavens on her head."

No matter how matter-of-factly that point of interest had been delivered, he'd chuckled, burying his face in her neck. Cass had shifted again, lying fully on her back, looking up at him where he was propped on his side. "I'm serious, as mythology goes, Queen Cassiopeia was extremely beautiful. We're talking like Helen of Troy times ten, but she was also arrogant and vain."

"Okay…_ouch_!" He laughed at her light elbow to his ribs. "What? Oh! That doesn't sound like you at all, baby."

She'd snorted. "I'm not arrogant. I take pride in my appearance. Maybe Papa Brig only skimmed his mythology." She'd shot him a smile. "I'm glad you invited me here."

"Here? Charming?"

She'd nodded. "To Charming. To this semi-empty, little house. To your bed, such as it is." She'd reached up and cupped the side of his shadow-darkened face, ran her thumb over the stubble covering his cheek, before executing a flip that sent him on his back with his constellation cutie astride him. She'd started the action and set the pace; he'd held on and followed her lead.

The sight of her hand reaching out and feeling the empty expanse of flannel sheet pulled him out of his recollection. He watched her slowly come awake. She sat up, blinking.

"Mornin'," he said, pushing away from the doorframe.

She jumped as if doused by water. "Holy shit!" Her hair slung across the side of her face and the sheet puddled in her lap as she bolted upright. Her startled eyes found him and she sighed. "You scared me. I didn't know where I was for half-a-second." Her voice was husky from sleep and a night spent using her mouth for more than talking. She coughed. "Time is it?"

"Almost eight."

"We'd better get back over to Juice and Ava's... the boys."

He nodded. "Get dressed. Got something to show you before we head over."

He waited while she slid into his flannel shirt, then decided he didn't want to have to wait for her to get herself fully together. So he pointed her toward the flat bundle leaned up against the wall, wrapped in a shipping quilt, and watched her make her way over to it and peel the quilt away.

"Oh!" she clapped a hand over her mouth as her eyes latched onto the window – his original reason for bringing her here the night before. She crouched down in front of it and he watched the expressions play across her face: wonder and then longing.

He smiled, feeling proud of himself. "Gonna put it in the master bath above the garden tub."

She nodded and stood. "I'm sure it'll be beautiful." Her voice became wistful. "Very expensive piece of work."

"So you like it?"

She shrugged and made an expression that asked why he'd goad her with something she couldn't have.

Koz chuckled. "It's yours."

"What?" she whirled to face him.

"Yeah. I'm gonna put it in our bathroom. Replace that shitty little window we got in there now."

She hugged herself, grinning so wide he thought her face would split. "Seriously? Oh, wow! It'll look beautiful. The afternoon sun hits that spot and the light will play off all those fragments…it'll be gorgeous." When she swallowed, he saw the sheen in her eyes before she started to turn away.

"What?" he laughed, surprised to see her near tears. "Come on, come here." He hugged her when she slipped her arms around his waist. "What's wrong with you?" he asked against her silky, dark hair.

Cassie sniffled. "Thank you, Koz." Then, "wait, where'd you find it?" She pulled away to look up at him.

"It was part of the demo. I saw it and thought you'd like it. Guess I was right."

"So right. I _love_ it. Who in their right mind wouldn't want that in their home? Who would trash something that beautiful?"

He chuckled as he remembered having been asked the reversal of that question. "Someone who had no idea what they were lookin' at."

**TBC**


	6. Dead Daddies

**Author's Note: **Hi, everyone. I'm sorry, but this is the last update to "We Are Young". I've stepped away from fanfiction to work on original writing projects that I'm very excited to be able to share. If you liked "Gets in Your Blood" and the Ava/Juice dynamic, you might be interested in my new novel _Shelter_. I have links and more information up at my website – you can visit my fanfic profile page for a link to my site.

I apologize for leaving this story in its current state, and I want to thank all of you for being such supportive, wonderful reviewers. I'm so passionate about storytelling and I'm hoping some of you will let me share my original stories with you.

~Bad Company

**6. Dead Daddies**

…

**The Future**

Hangarounds and new recruits, prospects, were under the impression that the club held a huge stripper-and-booze filled party every Friday night after church. In reality, there were a lot of Fridays that the guys with homes went to those homes after a few beers and a round of cards. After winning two hands, collecting his winnings, and parting ways with his Pops with a man-hug in the T-M parking lot, Sam had headed home intent on dragging his woman to bed and had instead found Halen scouring the already-gleaming kitchen counters with a sponge in a way that bordered on manic and crazed.

She'd glanced up at him through a parted curtain of her silken blonde hair and her eyes had been glazed with unmistakable tears. It would have been a cute image if not for the tears. He told her to drop the sponge, take off the gloves, and had tucked her under his arm, towed her to their bedroom.

Lainie was across the street at the Jennings' – the elderly couple kept their granddaughter while the girl's parents were deployed overseas – and he knew they'd have privacy. Lainie and the little girl, Claire, had become fast friends. And after a background check through connected sources that had ruled out any possible threats to his Lainie because of her association to Joe, Kathy, and Claire, Sam had been glad to get some "alone" nights.

While he went to the dresser and stripped off his guns in their shoulder holster, wallet, chain, keys, watch, cell phone and pocket knife, he saw Halen go to the bed and climb up onto the middle of the California king. She pulled her legs up under her Indian style. Her eyes followed him as he hung his cut and hoodie on their proper pegs, toed off his boots, tugged off his t-shirt and executed perfect three point shot that sent it into the wicker hamper by the bathroom door. She was silent through all of that, even when he stretched out on the bed beside her, propped on an elbow. Her eyes moved over the ink on his chest and arms, and still, she said nothing.

Sam waited until he had eye contact, then up-nodded at her. "What's got you playing Merry Maid at quarter to one? Your mom coming down for a visit?"

Her smile was faint, and then disappeared. Her left hand found the single dog tag that hung on a long chain around her neck and she fingered it absently. "No."

Cassie had Kozik's other tag. "Your mom does that," he said, not able to withhold a grin.

Her eyes snapped up to his and they were full of daggers. "Do not compare me to my s'mother, Morales," she said, hand falling back to her lap. Her mock anger faded quickly, though, and she sighed so loud and deep that Sam had the impression his normally unflappable Old Lady had become good and flapped…if that was even a saying. His mom would have shaken her head and looked down her reading glasses at him if she'd heard that thought.

"No," Hay repeated. "It's just that March is a busy month. Lots of showers to plan. Kayla's is coming up…and I want it to be perfect, but some of the other…" she shook her head ,"And I gotta spend my time with a buncha nosy-assed, knocked-up…" she trailed off with another sigh, pinched the bridge of her nose like she did when she had a headache.

And then Sam understood her problem.

The past summer had been a quiet, uneventful one for SAMCRO and Charming. His club brothers had spent their free time in the sack with their women, obviously, and now that spring had arrived, there were eight expectant Old Ladies walking around with huge bellies. In a club this small, hell, a town this small, that was insanity!

And for as many times as the people in his life had asked him if maybe he was just a little too cold, a little too uncaring, even if he didn't process emotions the same way his girl did, he knew why she was staring into space, why there was an empty place inside of her.

"_Don't let shit fester,"_ Pops had always said. Pops, understander of all things crazy and female, had tried to teach him about being there, about being a set of ears, about listening, about being the support that the women crazy enough, and strong enough, to love Sons needed, and some of those lessons had stuck. So even though Sam had intended to do something very different with Halen in bed tonight, he pulled out a knife, opened the wound, and didn't let it fester.

He reached into her lap where her hands were wringing together and pulled them apart, put them on either side of her. She glanced up at him with an uncharacteristically guilty look: his girl was not a drama queen. She was happy and content ninety-nine percent of the time, so her expression bothered him, more than he'd care to admit. "What?" he asked.

"You know I don't waste time worrying about impossibilities," she started. "There are way too many things that could stand a chance of happening – that, ya know, deserve acknowledgement and in-the-event-of planning – that I don't just sit around pining over shit that for sure isn't gonna happen. Apparently, that makes me some kind of lunatic." She closed her mouth and her lips pressed together into a shaky line as she took a moment to control the wave of emotion that so obviously heaved inside her.

After a moment, she heaved a breath that was a sad laugh. "I used to have a dream journal. Most of them were simple. Maybe not so much dreams as…goals? But I definitely had two big ones." She rolled her eyes. "Well, one was linked to the other, and…well…" her eyes latched onto his and their pinned him to the bed like blue lasers. The meaning in them was clear, and Sam thought it might have made another man uncomfortable. But he'd heard her say as much to him without words before: _he_ was one of her dreams.

"Being with you, like this, what we have here…you know: great digs, all of us healthy and happy. That was my big, huge, _constant_, impossible dream. My wish. And when it came true, well, I had been given my share and couldn't really ask for anything more," he watched the muscles in her throat roll as she swallowed. Guilt swept across her face. "I've got you, Lainie, all of this," she waved an arm to indicate the bedroom and the bedside lamp caught the diamond he'd put on her hand, the rock glinting in a way that made him blink.

Hay glanced up at the ceiling, sucked in a pained breath. Leveled a look at him, rubbed her lips together to moisten them. Her brows knitted together. "Orion James. Cora Noelle."

Sam felt his own eyebrows climb up his forehead. "What?"

Her eyes fell to the mattress and her hands found one another again, clasping tightly. She drew in a shaky breath. "A long time ago, before it became a medical impossibility, I named the children I wanted to have with you. Christ," she scoffed, "it sounds more pathetic out loud than it did in my head. I'm sorry!" she shook her head, miserable. "I need to build a wall or maybe get one of those memory zapper things from the sci-fi movies. Learn not to let incessantly nosy little bitches get to me. It's like there's some contest between them to come up with the coolest name. 'We're all stuck on names, heehee!'" she mimicked. "'No one wants three Kellys and four Jasons.' Allison is the only one who has any idea because she and Aaron want to keep the A pattern going. 'Come on, Hay, you've gotta have a few ideas and it's not like you'll be needing them'."

Her voice cracked and tears spilled over her lashes. She dashed at them, but Sam saw the glittering trails on her cheeks.

Through his shock, Sam's ire rose. His girl _was not_ a crier. "Who the fuck said that?" He sat up, the pain in her voice bringing him fully upright on the bed.

She shook her head. "Doesn't matter."

"The fuck it doesn't."

Hay got up on her knees and crawled across the bed till she was at his side. She lay down and put a hand on his chest, urged him back. "Down, boy. That's it."

He complied, but then reached up and smacked the headboard. Her head came up and he knew where her eyes went: the message she'd lovingly stenciled above their bed in black paint. Their promise. _No Lies, Just Love_. It was strictly enforced. In their world of SAMCRO, their bed had to be a place where there were no walls, no falsehoods, no stories.

Halen blinked and the stress bled out of her face, her features softening. "It's not a lie," she told him, settling her head on his chest. "It doesn't matter which bitch said it. I should be in better control of my reactions. I shouldn't be dumping this all on you, dragging you into my heart-wrenching…whimsical," she always tried to trivialize her feelings in deference to him, "pity-party bullshit. I'm sorry, Sammy. I hadn't worked it all out of my system before you got home."

Sam sighed and wiped the scowl off his face – for her benefit. "C'mere." He reached out and palmed the side of her face and drew her up to his mouth for a kiss.

She was the one who broke the connection. She slid a leg over his hips and sat up, astride his lap. "I'm so very happy, Sammy!" she said in a voice that sounded like a plea. "You've got to believe me when I tell you I've been given all I've ever wanted. Tonight was just a bad night."

It was, obviously, because she was a wreck. He watched her, watched her eyes that were normally so easy to read – at least to him – and saw a sadness in them that was disturbing. He was vain, it was true, and as such didn't require validation of her expressed sentiments. But tonight, for some reason, he needed to know she wasn't paying lip service so he'd drop the issue. He nodded. "A'ight."

She smiled, relieved.

"What were those names again?"

"Sam, don't!"

But he stared at her until she glanced away. He always won staring contests. Always.

Nibbling at her bottom lip, Hay slid off his lap and then off the bed, going to the closet. She parted the hanging clothes and rooted around in the deep, dark depths until she came back out with a box of some kind. She perched on the edge of the bed and glanced back him over her shoulder, her look hard, measuring. Then she keyed in a four digit code on the box's electronic panel – no doubt the thing had been a gift from her old man – and the thing clicked, buzzed, opened.

Sam watched her dig through an assortment of papers before withdrawing a little book he just knew was a diary. She set the fireproof box on the floor and turned slowly, a strange expression on her face. She almost cringed when she handed him the book. "My dream journal. I'm sure you can do the math, but it's late and you've had a few beers. So I'll make it easy on you. I was fifteen-years-old when I started this, you were twenty-one…was enamored with you when I was like nine. Back then, you were the coolest, baddest fifteen-year-old on the planet. But then I spent that summer down here, when my folks were re-doing the house so Dinah-Gram could move in." She shook her head. "The beginning of the end, baby."

Sam didn't have a fucking clue what to make of everything he'd just learned as he watched he leave the bedroom. He started trying to do the math in his head, searching for hidden meanings within past moments, but he didn't have his brother's crazy-busy mind, so he gave up.

He stared at the book in his hand a long moment, then swung off the bed, and put the journal back in its box, unopened.

He was just closing the door to the closet when Halen walked back into the room. She paused in the threshold, water bottle in hand. "And?"

"Noelle was Senior's mom's name."

Her eyes widened. "I didn't know…"

"How would you?" he shrugged. "Orion's my favorite constellation."

A grin slowly touched her lips. "The Hunter. Yeah, I can see that." This time when Halen sighed, it didn't sound like it had before. She looked tired, but no longer heartbroken. "I'm sorry I dumped all that on you tonight."

Sam shrugged. "It happens. But you remember what I told you? About kids?"

She nodded. "You wouldn't trade Alaina for the world…but you never wanted kids of your own."

A beat of silence passed, a mutual understanding settling between them.

Sam patted the bed beside him. "C'mere."

…

**The Relative Present**

"I'm so sorry." Ava twisted around in the passenger seat and glanced back at Race who was, as usual, fussing. He wasn't screaming, but was making noise, whining and grunting. Ava had felt unbidden, sympathetic maternal tears well up back the doctor's office while Race had been crying through his checkup, but now, she just wanted him to be quiet.

Cassie grinned as she put her Maxima in park and killed the engine. "I rode all the way from Tacoma with Luc and Brax…Race doesn't bother me in the least."

"Thanks for lying," Ava said with a tired laugh. She unfastened her seatbelt and climbed out of the car, going around to the rear door so she could pull a now even more agitated baby out of his car seat and into her arms. "But trust me, _we're_ bothered, so I know you are too."

"But see, I get to go home in a week," Cass said over the rood of the sedan.

"Lucky." But she tucked Race's blanket around his little socked feet and cradled his little stocking-capped head in the crook of her arm. Babies weren't supposed to be attached this soon or be too aware of their surroundings, but she swore he was. That, or she was just madly in love and wanted to believe great things about her baby.

The garage was alive with the usual cacophony of air wrenches and metallic clangs, but Ava was guessing that was thanks to non-Son mechanics, because there was a crowd of reapers over beneath the clubhouse pavilion. They headed in that direction, the bright blue, fresh April afternoon cool and beautiful around them.

"Blowing off steam," Ava said as they drew close enough to hear the sounds of fists on flesh. "They've been a little stressed lately."

Carter was on the outermost ring of the group and turned. "Hey, girls." Even boyish blonde Carter had dark rings under his eyes. Though, that might have had more to do with his impending fatherhood than the club. "Hey, little dude," he touched one of Race's feet.

"Hi, Carter," Cassie greeted. "I hear congrats are in order."

His mouth pulled to the side in a lame attempt at a smile. "Yeah."

_Poor guy_, Ava thought. For all the bad press she and Juice got about having a baby so soon, Carter and Mia were far less prepared.

"Your man's in the ring," he inclined his head that direction. Koz and Tux were having what was obviously a friendly sparring match. Koz was going easy on the curly-headed cowboy and the audience watched with tired, blank indifference.

Juice was sitting alone on a picnic table, smoking, and Ava headed that direction, Cass following. Juice saw them coming, twitched a smile and crushed out his cigarette on the table top.

"Hey, babe." He waited until she'd climbed up next to him and they'd traded a kiss. "What'd the doc say?"

Ava moved Race over so his head was resting in the arm that butted up to Juice's arm. "We've gained a whole pound -,"

"We?"

"Shut up, it's my mommy thing. We've gained a whole pound," she went on. "He's extremely alert, which, no shit." Juice chuckled. "He suggested colic, but I've seen colic, and him being this…wired…is not colic." She glanced up at her husband. "Wired sounds bad, doesn't it? 'Cause he's not _bad_, he's just…"

"Overly awake," Juice finished for her.

"Yep." She laughed as she looked down at the baby. "Oh, this is my payback for being crazy. Shoulda known." A glance at her surroundings showed that Sons, and even a couple of sweetbutts who'd been hanging around were becoming more interested in the baby than the boxing action. "Hey, Cass, would you mind holding him for a bit? I'm gonna run to the restroom."

"I could hold him," Juice said.

"But do you want to?"

"Actually I'm gonna go with you."

"Cass?"

"No problem." Cassie scooped Race out of her arms and cuddled him close. "Hey, buddy," she cooed.

Content that her kid was in capable hands, Ava set off for the clubhouse, husband in tow.

**-O-**

Tux's swings were painfully predictable. Painful for him, but good for Koz. It ensured that this was more of a teaching exercise and a chance to blow off steam than it was a real sparring match. It also gave Koz time to watch Ava and Juice get up while Cassie took the baby and cuddled it up in her arms.

Two club sluts who'd been nervous around Ava moved closer so that could see the kid. Bobby and Chibs headed that way too. Cassie made weird faces and even weirder noises down at the baby, laughing. Totally comfortable. Totally at home…with a baby in her arms.

It was a disturbing image.

It wasn't that he had anything against this kid in particular: little Race Ortiz was the son of a Son, Little Bit's offspring. So he had a vested interest in the little guy. But for some reason, seeing Cass so at home like this reminded him that she probably wanted another kid. Which made him feel a touch guilty. Which pissed him off, because he had nothing to apologize for. He –

Tux's gloved fist connected with his jaw with a meaty _thud_.

"Little shit." The lucky shot had been his own fault – he'd stopped paying attention – but it spiked his anger. He slugged Tux back, putting all his weight behind it, sending the other Son staggering back against the ropes.

"What the fuck?" the cowboy demanded.

When Koz glanced over at Cass, he met her wide-eyed stare and he was struck by the primitive male urge to assert his dominance.

**-O-**

When Ava came out of the bathroom, Juice was waiting for her, leaned back against the bar, staring at his boots. His head came up at the sound of her approach. His face was etched with fatigue, but she saw more than that in his dark eyes: she saw stress and worry too.

"You know," she said, smoothing her hands down the loose, billowy sleeveless top she'd worn over her cropped jeans, suddenly self-conscious of her post-baby softness. "The last time you walked me in to the bathroom, you had something a lot more illegal on your mind," she teased.

When he only managed a half-smile, she shoved her body image issues out of the way and slid her arms around his waist, rested her face in the hollow of his throat. "What's got you all turned around?" She tilted her head back so she could watch him swallow, saw his adam's apple bob in his throat. "Or can you tell me?"

His arms folded around her shoulders, holding her close. Another half smile that meant no, he couldn't tell her. "It'll blow over," he said in a voice that sounded like it was meant to reassure both of them, and not just her.

"Can I help?"

His smile grew and his hands slid down her back, fingers spreading as he cupped her ass and pulled her against him. _No_, her body protested, but it still felt good when he flexed his spine and his hips moved against hers. "Six weeks," she reminded with a sigh.

"I know. But a guy can dream, right?"

"Right." She smiled, put her cheek against his clavicle. "I won't be so nutty this time," she said in a voice just above a whisper. "You know, when it's time. I'll be ready."

His hands came back up to her shoulders, and then one buried itself in the thick hair at the nape of her neck, his fingers curling through the strands. It was a sweet gesture, but there was a desperate, clingy feel to his embrace that left worry gnawing at the pit of her stomach.

When they joined the group out under the pavilion, Ava saw that the sparring match had broken up and Koz was leaning over the ropes, hovering above Cass who still held Race amid a captive audience.

Ava was struck by the sudden realization that she'd walked away and left Race with someone else. Someone who wasn't her mom, or Gemma, Chibs or Juice, Neeta. _It's no different than that_, she told herself with a deep breath. And really, it wasn't.

Chibs, who'd been leaning over Cassie's shoulder and making faces at his grandson, straightened. "Alright, Kozik," he laughed. "When should we expect one o' these from you?"

"Yeah," Juice chimed in. "First love, then marriage, reapers in baby carriages and all that."

But when Ava's eyes went to Koz, she didn't find a trace of a smile. In fact, he was scowling so fiercely, looking at his Old Lady with such contempt, that Ava's step faltered.

"Nah," the blonde Tacoma biker sneered, teeth flashing. "My Russian/Swedish blood and her Italian/Irish…that's like Comet and Clorox. No, none of you'll _ever_ see any little reapers from us."

Ava drew in a breath and said nothing, not sure she could say anything that wasn't completely inappropriate and derogatory. She slipped in next to Cassie and took Race back. The brunette's face was stricken, her smile frozen, her green eyes large and watery. She handed over the baby readily and then stared up at her man with a look Ava figured had flashed across her own face more than once: Koz was in for a long, cold, loooonely night. Maybe more than one.

"What?" Juice asked.

Tig coughed a chuckle.

"Dude," Carter said.

But Koz didn't relent. "I'm serious. Our DNA is probably the exact formula they used at Los Alamos to make the first atomic bomb."

It might have been a joke, but his voice was nasty and cruel for no reason. Ava felt a self-conscious flush creep up her cheeks: how many people had whispered about her own procreation behind her back?

"Couldn't be any worse than my atomic bomb babies," she said. "Come on, Cass, you ready to get outta here?"

She was glad the Tacoma Old Lady fell into step behind her, but she knew Koz's comments hadn't bounced off of her. The blatant disrespect Koz had shown, and seemingly without reason, was not the sort of thing a girl forgot.

**-O-**

Koz didn't regret the words – he'd said some combination of them to Cass more than once before – but as he watched her walk, every muscle in her body tense, he had a feeling he shouldn't have said them out loud in public like this. As public as the club could be considered.

"I'll be back by the house later," he called to her.

She turned her head just far enough to say, "fine," over her shoulder, and continued to follow Ava.

His brothers chuckled quietly to themselves around him. Juice stepped up beside the ring. "Dude, you know fine doesn't mean fine, right?"

**-O-**

Cassie lifted the flaps of the next box and took inventory of the hastily packed office supplies. _Ava's laptop_, she realized as she spotted the silver top of the computer. _That's why this one was so heavy_. Beneath it, a cup of pens had spilled and there were ink splotches all over a series of note pads and Post-Its.

"I think Juice packed a lot of these," Maggie said with a sigh.

They were in the dining room, which was going to serve as an office, surrounded by boxes, trying to make some order of their contents. Ava had gone to put Race down for a nap and had fallen asleep. Maggie had pulled the bedroom door to and said they should let her sleep, and Cass had agreed. Down the gallery, in the living room, the boys were playing games, their voices rising every so often in excitement. Tara had dropped her son Johnny by, a move that had left Maggie rolling her eyes, and Sam played in the dining room at Maggie and Cassie's feet.

Cass stowed all the office supplies in the desk drawers that had been labeled ahead of time for her by Maggie, putting paper and pens where they belonged. Then she tackled the next box. She had it open before she read the label PHOTOS, but by that that time, she was already staring at a mess of pictures and was too curious to pass up a look.

They'd been organized in rows with notebook paper labels separating sets. Most were of Sam, or Sam and Ava, Sam and Juice, Sam and his grandparents. But as she walked her fingers through the labels she saw _Honeymoon_ and _Christmas_ and _New House_ – which turned out to be the little gray house they'd moved out of – and finally one that read _Old Stuff_. That was where she found the interesting ones: snapshots of a younger Ava, smiling, standing beside an unsmiling man.

_Sam is a junior but his last name isn't Ortiz_…an old snippet of conversation she'd had with Koz came to mind as she withdrew a small stack of photos and began flipping through them. Curiosity won out over propriety.

"Hey, Maggie, is this…" she let the question hang and turned the top picture, the unsmiling, tanned man with a scowl that could have stopped a bus, toward Ava's mother.

The blonde twitched a sad, distant smile. She blinked. "That's Hap," she said with a sigh and a nod. "Happy." She glanced pointedly down at Sam and then at Cassie's face, her hazel eyes boring holes through her. "She told you about him?"

Cass looked at the picture again, struck hard by the obvious age difference between Ava and her child's father. By the spooky intensity of his face. He'd been good-looking in a tan and lean, terrifying sort of way, not handsome, but hot in his own way. Though he'd been Koz's friend, she'd never seen the guy. "Bits and pieces," she said. "I didn't want to pry."

Maggie nodded her approval of that statement and returned to her task.

"He and Juice…"

"Are nothing alike. And that's a good thing."

It was hard to imagine Ava not being with the sweet, goofy biker with the lightning bolts tatted onto his head. She'd seen Juice hopped up and ready for a fight, willing to defend his woman, but Happy was on a whole other level of coldness – that much she could tell just from a picture. "Yeah," she said, and slipped the pictures back in the box.

A loud shout from the living room drew her attention. She recognized Luc's voice, and sighed. "I'll be back," she promised, stepping carefully over Sam as she stepped out into the gallery and headed for the living room.

As she reached the threshold, other sounds joined the chorusing cheers of the boys: screams, squeals and gunshots. She frowned. "Ava and the baby are trying to take a nap," she said, approaching the trio from behind. Luc and Johnny, a dark-headed kid who had a wicked smile painted on his face, were manning the game controls, sitting cross-legged beneath the expansive flat-screen TV. Brax was beside his friend, watching instead of playing. And on the screen, she noted that their game seemed to involve cars, crowded urban streets, and bloodied pedestrians. "What are you guys doing?"

Luc never took his eyes from the game. "Mowin' down crack whores."

"Oh." She felt her frown deepen. "Oh, no, sir, you're not." In two quick moves, she pulled the controller out of her son's hands and switched off the TV.

"Aww!" all three boys protested in unison.

"Come on, Mom," Luc said. "They're bad people. They _need_ mowin' down."

"Yeah," Brax agreed.

"No," Cassie folded her arms over her chest and adopted a stance she'd seen on her mother hundreds of times; one foot cocked to the side, staring down her nose at them, mouth set in a stern line. "I'm sure they're just…down on their luck…and they certainly don't need mowing down. Not by six-year-olds."

Johnny shrugged, drawing her attention. "My older brother Abel, his mom was a junkie, and he almost died 'cause of her. They are bad people. And I'm old enough to play this game," he got a pouty, defiant look on his face, "my dad even plays against me sometimes. He don't care just so long as I only run over, like, junkies and drug dealers and gang bangers." Cass fought to keep her mouth from falling open in shock. "And Luc's dad is dead, right? So he can't tell him 'no'."

Cass felt like she'd been slapped. A startled glance at Luc and Brax proved that their faces registered the same shock she did. Johnny looked at her with a defiant, petulant frown. Luc's father _was_ dead. Brax's dad was in and out of rehab so often that the boy had to live with his grandmother. Sam's real father was dead and lurking photographs in the dining room. Hell, her _own_ father was dead…

"John Jackson."

Cassie hadn't heard anyone come in through the front door, but when her head whipped in that direction, she saw a woman lingering in the gallery, arms folded, a rhinestone studded leather purse hanging off one shoulder. Her face was vaguely familiar from photos, but the camera had failed to capture the austere, dominant expression on her face. Cassie was not a person who was easily intimidated by fellow women, but this one…this one was a bit scary.

"Hi, Grandma," Johnny said.


End file.
